Chapter 11
Eleven
Beltane Eve.
’Twas after sunset, and fires glittered on the hillside. All the household fires must be dowsed on this night, and no one might give their flame to another, lest he fall under the power of the giver. Instead, we lit our flames from the great bonfires, after the cattle had been driven between them.
We. I still used that word, could not break the habit of thinking of myself as one of these mortals, whose blood made up half my own.
Could not stop remembering Beltane in our village, how I laughed when my brothers—nay, Bess’s brothers—leapt over the flames in hopes it would bring them good luck.
How we feasted on Beltane bannocks, and chased our rolling oatcakes down the hill, giggling or sometimes weeping, for if the cakes fell wrong side down, it portended ill luck.
My oatcakes never fell wrong side down, though I considered myself the unluckiest of them all. Not a perfect form of divination then.
As the night wore on, couples gone a-maying scattered across the hillside, giving free rein to their lust under blankets that twitched and trembled with every move they made.
They did not know, but Faery spilled out its greatest powers of seduction this night, blessing with fecundity both the fae and mortal worlds.
When I was younger the lovers made me blush, for Eamon called this a shameful custom, rutting on the hillside like that.
As I grew older, I learned to look outside Eamon’s worldview, for what had such human notions to do with the fae?
I wondered if I might ever have a swain to couple with beside the bonfire, under the summer stars.
I never did. I never would. For eighteen years I wandered through this mortal life all but unseen.
Except by Thomas. He had made me feel beautiful. And even if he jested when he called me his wood nymph, it was just what I needed to hear.
Come away, come away, I heard the wind whisper, and knew Faery called me home.
What welcome would She give? Would I be taken as a mortal plaything, easily disposed of when I ceased to be amusing? Or would She embrace me as one of Her own?
It did not matter. I had no other place to go.
I would leave, and Thomas and I would not couple beside the Beltane bonfires. Our limbs would never mingle, we would not fill the air with laughter and sweet moans, enriching the earth with our own fertility. The shepherd king could never be mine.
I cast my wistful eyes one last time at the lovers scattered about the hill.
Come away, came the voices again. We are yours and you are ours.
But at that moment, I was no one’s at all.
The air grew chill, and I wrapped my arms around myself.
The scent of burning wood rose like an offering to the ancient gods, and the air filled with an energy that brought my senses to life.
Mortals laughed, and drank, and made love beneath their woven plaids, and none of them so much as raised their head to look at me as I passed by.
I breathed deep and said a silent goodbye, then turned towards Carterhaugh and to Faery beyond.
My path was not smooth. Rocks bit into my feet through the thin soles of my boots. Tree limbs snatched at me, caught like claws in my clothing and hair. Tiny creatures stirred in the bushes to either side; owls cried in the branches overhead.
Come away, little changeling. Come away, Bess-you-appear. Discover your true self. This time it seemed to me the voice of the trickster, Amadan, his sensuous tones wrapping around me like a coiling serpent.
“I am trying,” I whispered, and began to run.
My breath came heavy, my human flesh weighing me down.
I had to pause, resting my hands on my knees, taking deep breaths as I glanced around.
Never had I visited Carterhaugh after nightfall.
The sky hung like rich velvet, deep blue and studded with sparkling stars.
The forest seemed impenetrable. Looking behind me, I could not see where I had come from.
Looking before me, I could not see where to go.
How is this possible?
I had just walked between all those tumbling lovers, the bonfires dotting the hillside in a mirror of the stars above. I should have seen their glow between the trees of the forest. Yet it was so dark, as though a door had already shut behind me and closed me off from the mortal world.
From the corner of my eye, I caught a brief flash of light, and I heard a tinkling as of bridle bells.
I straightened, scraping the hair from my eyes as I peered into the wildwood before me.
There. A tree stood with lights dancing around it, hollowed out by lightning to make a doorway of sorts, or was it a tunnel?
For not even my fae sight could see through to the other side.
Anticipation fluttered in my belly, and a sense of rightness settled upon me, like finally trying on a garment that fit.
We are a people of thresholds and borders. I must pass between to find my way home.
I entered the tree.
It stretched out before me, much deeper than it had appeared from the outside, the walls alternately solid and made of mist, nacreous with a pale luster that came from no source of light I saw.
Faces formed within the walls; horned faces, green-skinned, a hideous goblin with a cap of dripping red.
I recoiled from them, then flushed with embarrassment.
I have been among the humans too long. These are my people, my folk. In time, they might even come to seem lovely to me.
The tunnel appeared to go on forever, dipping slowly downwards as if beneath a hill I had not seen.
Hours might have passed while I wandered through, until at last I could see the opening at the end of the tunnel, and beyond it, glimpses of a bonny glen.
The sky there was blue, too dark for daylight but not the full black of night, as in the realm of man behind me.
The ground lay thick with green, and radiant flowers curled around a path of silver moonlight, though no moon shone above.
In the distance stood curling towers that could be none other than the palace of the Faery Queen.
Some impossible memory sang in me, rang in me. I knew that place. How did I know that place? Was it a landmark known to all the fae, or something more? It called to me, far away as it was. I reached out a hand as if to touch it.
As if it were mine.
From behind me came the shout of a mortal man.
Heed it not, said the whispering voices around me.
Heed it not, my inner fae echoed. Find your way home.
I could not ignore the cry. I had recognized the voice.
Thomas.
Close your ears to it. If I must leave the world of man, then no man could claim my attention. I must shut myself off.
Come to us, the voices said again, drowsily seductive, yet somehow insistent. Return and right what is gone wrong. I felt their pull, the wisp of a breeze against my clothing and skin. Around me, the tree began to close.
Thomas cried out again, somewhere deep in the forest. His voice spoke fear, his voice spoke anguish. I closed my eyes, covered my ears, but I could not move forward.
I cannot ignore his pain.
Mairi Grieve’s daughter—nay, her prentice—could not ignore his pain.
The night was young, I told myself, hours before midnight yet, and the Veil would not close until the dawn. I had time. Opening my eyes, I stared out at Faery: the towering spires of the palace, the lush green promise of the magical glen.
Yours, cried the voices of the fae, the voice of Faery itself. Claim it.
Slowly, I turned away.
I faced the mortal land I meant to be leaving. Apparently, it was not done with me yet.
A third time, Thomas’s cry rang through the forest. A wolf howled, high and lonesome, piercing through the darkened woods.
I froze in place, feet rooted to the forest floor. My heart thudded, and the hairs on my arms prickled; worry churned in my belly’s pit.
How can I fight a wolf? I have no bow, am no huntsman. I -haven’t even a knife.
And then again: How can I leave Thomas in the forest to die?
The howl persisted. A horrific wind rose and shook the tree around me. On that wind I heard ghastly whispers. I could not understand them, and if I listened hard enough, they would drive me mad.
Underneath it all, came the sound of a flute playing, mournful and deep.
When the Veil thinned, I could make my way into Faery. When the Veil thinned, others could find their way out.
Nasty things. Hungry things. Creatures I was ignorant of, due to my human rearing, creatures I must conjure out of dim shadows and vague recollections, the wee slithering beasties who cowered in the corners when the lights were low.
Or the wolf who howled out fae whispers, and the trickster’s fatal song.
Whatever it was, the shepherd must be its quarry.
I burst forth from the tree, away from Faery, and took to my heels again.
Thomas.
What brought him to Carterhaugh? He should have been helping the Douglases lead their cattle between the bonfires, perhaps stopping by the brewmaster’s for a tankard of ale before bed. Or mayhap he should be maying with one of his light women, though I did not like to think of that.
Whatever his reason, the man should not be away from the village, certainly not out here in the forest. He courted disaster to wander thus.
I paused to get my bearings, to determine which direction the cries had come from. Crickets chirped. Night birds called. My skin prickled and my heartbeat raced, my spirit singing like a lark on the wing.
Far in the distance, the wolf howled again, its unearthly and mournful cry.
Oh, Shepherd King.
What do you mean to do? I asked myself. You are but a weaponless girl, and it will help the shepherd not at all to see you killed.
Yet I did not feel like a weaponless girl. Beltane waked my fae blood, thrummed through my veins. I was a huntress, no mere wood nymph but a forest goddess who would not allow one under her protection to be harmed.
This was no ordinary wolf. I could hear it in his song, would swear it on my soul, if I had one, on Mairi Grieve’s tomb, and the unknown mother who gave me birth. And if the creature was fae, perhaps fae would listen to fae, and leave the mortal man alone. I could only hope.
As I made my way towards the outskirts of the forest, I kept my ears perked.
“Easy,” I heard a man’s voice say. The creature responded with rough barking and growling. The sounds of a scuffle followed, and a loud thump as Thomas screamed.
Fallen. My breath caught, and every inch of my flesh snapped to attention. Did the beast knock him down, does it now seek to feast upon his flesh?
Not if I could help it.
The sounds came from the direction of the well, the haunt of Amadan Dubh.
I’m coming, Thomas, I said silently, tucked up my skirts, and began to run, branches lapping against me as I pushed past. I arrived at the well and looked around for Thomas, taking several moments to catch my breath.
“Bess!” A harsh whisper came from behind a fallen tree. Thomas lay there, prostrate. “Stay put. He doesn’t see . . .” He trailed off, and I found myself face-to-face with the largest wolf I could imagine.
It stood as large as a bull, snarling and slavering as its jaws dripped with watery blood. Its eyes were green and shone bright as a torch in the dim forest; its thick black fur had the iridescence of a raven’s wing.
Ye are no mortal creature, that is certain.
I stared, unblinking, as I slowly reached for a fallen tree branch I might use as a weapon.
Then I screamed and dropped it again.
“Bess!” Thomas cried out, his voice wracked with pain.
My hand burned. I stared at the branch, with fernlike leaves and creamy white blossoms. Rountree. It can be dangerous to my folk, as it is said to ward off enchantments and evil spirits.
“I am not a malevolent being,” I said to the rountree branch, and wrapped my hand with the fabric of my skirt. “You will hurt me not.”
The wolf stared at me, head tilted slightly, like a curious hound.
“I cannot say the same for you.” I thrust the rountree branch into its face.
“Wood nymph, don’t—”
Thomas’s protest was cut short by the sound of sizzling, and a hiss of protest from the beast. The wolf’s inky fur smoked, though it did not yelp, flee, or attack like an ordinary beast. It stared at me with those unnatural eyes, hackles up, slavering, while a scent rose of moss and musk and something innocent turned hideously profane.
In a voice half growl, half the Fool’s seductive tones, it spoke.
“That scepter is not worthy of you, my queen.”
I nearly dropped it once again.
You mock me. You lie, seek to throw me off my guard.
I pressed my vantage, continuing to prod with the tree branch as I widened my stance, let my lungs fill with air.
The wind tossed my skirts about and my plaits, lashing my face with wayward tendrils, but I paid it no mind.
I drew strength from the earth, and felt as though I grew larger, and far more menacing, facing the ungodly gaze of the beast with my own.
“I know what manner of creature you are,” I told it, as I pushed it back, “for we are the same, you and I.”
“Then claim your power.” All at once it leapt at me, lunging for my shoulder, while the shepherd shouted in alarm.
My kirtle tore, and its fangs scraped against my flesh. Its breath was cold enough to burn, and the scent of my own blood nearly made me gag. Even as my gorge rose, so too did the storm inside me, my blood turning to flame in my veins.
I raised my hands in the air, sizzling with power. “Off!” I commanded, with the rasp of a banshee. And I slammed the rountree branch into its face.
The branch burned; with no flame it seared its fur and flesh, branding the wolf with a mark like a handprint. It backed away, and the forest grew silent, eerie silent, as if listening to what would transpire.
I wrapped the forest stillness around me and spoke with an assurance that had never been mine. “You may wander lawless through the woods of man,” I said. “But you shall not claim this mortal life. He is mine.”
Everything seemed to stop. The crickets and the nightbirds went silent. The uncanny wind died down, and I could only hear Thomas’s breath, heavy with fear.
The wolf bowed its head and spoke, inaudible words that I heard with some other sense deep inside me. “So you have said. I shall hold you to that.”
And then, so faint I could scarce trust my senses, it added, “My liege.”
All at once, the wind stirred up, whipping my garments around me, and raising a soft grey mist that obscured my view.
When it cleared, the wolf had disappeared.
“Bess,” hissed Thomas. “What was it?”
I stared at the space where the beast had been, where not even a footprint remained behind.
A better question to ask would be “who?”
And why did he hail me as his liege?