With one hand on her belly, she thought of all the things she looked forward to sharing with her child: telling him the stories that Grandmother told her; making corn dollies, foraging for plants at the seashore.
Yet, already, the sun was relentlessly hot. The roses were parched and the fresh herbs were browning at the edges of their delicate leaves, even though she’d been watering them faithfully. Nature wasn’t kind, or moral. It was an eternal cycle of life and death: it drew no distinctions between hunger and glut.
Apprehension made her step away from the window, though she couldn’t explain why. She got dressed and made her way carefully down the stairs; she’d need to let the midwife in the shop door.
Downstairs, she made a cup of peppermint tea in the kitchenette; there were still no contractions; she wondered when they would start. Rather than sitting, she opened the shop door and stood in the early morning sun to drink her tea.
Gabriel, I need you – she spoke his name into the air. The baby is coming. Please, I need you here. He had promised to be with her, and he wasn’t here. She picked up her phone and called his number, and heard his ringtone from the soft chair in front of the fireplace. He’d left it behind.
Her own phone rang again almost instantly. It was the midwife, saying that her car wouldn’t start – she’d be with Faye as soon as she could. Were there any contractions yet? Faye told her there weren’t, and asked whether that was usual. Yes, that’s quite usual, don’t worry, the midwife said. Let me know if they start. I’ll be there as soon as I can.
Faye finished her tea and made some toast, but she was restive. She decided to walk down to the beach; walking was supposed to induce labour, wasn’t it? She missed it; she’d hardly been there in the past months. She ignored the fact that she was already in labour, technically; that the contractions could come at any time, and the midwife had told her to put her feet up. And if she walked down to the beach, she’d probably find Gabriel.
She felt like a duck, waddling down to the beach. She took the quieter road that went around the village rather than through it – she didn’t really want to see anyone, and have them ask about the baby.
As she walked away from the shop, something shifted; it was like a cloud moved over the blazing sun overhead and shielded her eyes from a glare that she’d been squinting in all this time – only, it was inside her head rather than outside. Faye stopped dead, the beach visible in front of her.
A sudden clenching sensation made her hold her back; she took a deep breath, and it passed. She waited for another, but nothing came, and so she resumed walking slowly to the beach. She supposed it was a contraction; it wasn’t too far to get home from where she was if she needed to turn around.
The sand at the edge of the deserted beach was dry; the grasses that grew at the sandy boundary had turned to straw in the heatwave. Scotland without rain for this long was almost unheard of; the people of Abercolme were suffering. Faye had been telling customers for weeks to stay out of the sun, to drink plenty of water to avoid heatstroke and dehydration. She’d also sold out of calendula cream for the sunburn that striped the villagers’ milky Celtic skin. She hadn’t visited the beach because she was afraid of being near the faerie road; at least now, she’d come armed with protection. The bay, rue and rosemary charm hung around her neck, and she’d put pouches of the reverend’s suggested powder of burnt bay leaves, garlic skins and ground clove in all her coat pockets. Last, she still had the black obsidian crystal Lyr had given her as protection, tucked into her bra. It had worked when she was in Murias, so perhaps it would keep her safe from the faerie queens in some way.
She slipped off her sandals, letting the tide cool her hot feet.
Faye took a few more steps into the sea; she didn’t care that it wet the hem of her dress. She shaded her eyes from the sun as it glinted on the water, glittering like jewels.
Another contraction came, and she instinctively crouched down as the dull squeezing ache came and went. As it faded, the tide swept away, back to the sea, leaving her feet exposed in the wet sand. Next to her foot sat a hagstone; a medium-sized pebble with a hole all the way through the middle.
She picked it up; it sat comfortably in her hand.
‘Gabriel?’ Faye cried out, looking around for her friend, but there was still no sign of him, and her voice was consumed by a wind that blew it back to her. She felt another contraction coming, and realised their frequency was increasing. She’d left her phone back at the house; she cursed herself for her stupidity.
‘Gabriel!’ she shouted before the pain could hit her; she breathed into it, the way the midwife had taught her. She wanted to sit down. Gradually, the feeling abated again, but it left her legs weak. I need to sit down, she thought.
Clouds appeared on the horizon; Faye was sure they hadn’t been there a moment ago. On the horizon, lightning flashed, and the wind that had pushed at her the moment before grew in power, raising the waves around her knees. She turned and staggered out of the water. The villagers had been saying a storm was coming for days, and the atmosphere had that hot closeness, the stillness before thunder rolled in.
Sure enough, in the same second that she thought it, there was a rumble of atmospheric pressure in the distance, off the shore. Home. I need to go home, she thought. Her body was insistent, and she needed to listen to it. I was stupid to come here. Why did I come at all?
The pressure in the air made her ears pop. The clouds had rolled in towards land faster than she thought they could, and lightning forked down into the sea from the charcoal-grey clouds that formed above her head. Faye took a deep breath as an intense contraction came, making her fall to her knees and groan in pain as the storm gathered above her.
But when she looked up, it wasn’t Gabriel she saw in front of her, but Glitonea, the High Queen of Murias, who faced Moronoe, the High Queen of Falias, on Faye’s opposite side, and both regarded her with the glittering, cold stares of beings that weren’t human; of queens that always got what they wanted.
Fifty-Two
Faye cried out, trying to get to her feet. ‘Please. The baby’s coming.’ Her first instinct was to ask for help, but she realised her error instantly: she’d receive no compassion from either faerie queen.
‘I will help you, sidhe-leth.’ Glitonea’s eyes never left Moronoe’s, and the tone of her voice was icy. ‘Yet I hoped you would call on me before now, when it is almost too late. Tell the Queen of Falias that she may leave us. She has no business here.’
Faye managed to get to her feet, and backed away from the tide that was sweeping in; at the edge, it carried branches, bottles, rusted cans and other wrack, which it never usually did – the shore of Abercolme was a clean one, as a rule. Yet suddenly, the sea seemed to be attacking the shore with anything it could find. Glitonea stood in the tide, and Moronoe on the sand. Both queens were taller than humans, and Moronoe’s heft and girth was at odds with a kind of translucence that emanated from the faerie queen of water. Lightning crackled between them, and the day had darkened to a kind of twilight.
‘Niece. I asked you to call on me when the baby was coming, and you have not. Will you ask me now to take you to my realm, where I will help your labour, and protect the child from this vulture?’ Moronoe boomed over the storm. ‘You do not have long before the baby comes. Take my hand and all will be well.’
‘No,’ Faye cried out, clutching her belly as another contraction came. This time, the pain left her breathless. ‘Please. Leave me alone. I won’t give you the baby. Either of you,’ she panted. She reached for the obsidian crystal she always carried inside her bra and held it aloft, as if to fend them off.
Glitonea laughed; her eyes glowed under the cowled blue hood of her robe, and flicked her hand: the crystal flew from Faye’s grip and landed on the sand several metres away.
‘You have already given him to me. We have struck a bargain. I do not need any further permission,’ she said, reaching out her hand. ‘All I have to do is touch you, and he will b
e mine. Do not worry, sidhe-leth. You will not be harmed. You will be free to make as many more babies as you like with your human lovers, after this. But this one is mine.’ Glitonea’s tone was dismissive.
‘There is no way that I’m letting you take my child!’ Faye screamed. ‘I banish you! Both of you! Back to the realms from which you came!’ The contractions were coming fast now, and her mind was focused on the pain. Breathe through it, breathe through the pain, she told herself, her hands clutching at the wet sand in panic. She knew, with a sudden flash of inspiration, that she’d have to give birth here, on the beach. There was no time to get away now.
Faye held up the hagstone to her right eye and looked through it at Glitonea.
‘Break the spell; truth to tell!’ she cried out, and Glitonea took a step backwards; Faye repeated it with Moronoe. She pulled her strength together as hard as she could and recited the faerie protection spell from the book Gabriel had given her: Faeries in Their Elements, by Reverend R W Smith, reaching into her pocket and opening the felt bag. Faye sprinkled its contents around herself in a circle, as wide as she could make it.
Break the spell, truth to tell,
Faeries, heed my magic spell!
Dark thy magic, dark thy throne,
I banish thee from hearth and home,
I banish thee from body, mind,
Heart and organs, shadow-kind,
Dark thy magic, dark thy throne,
I bid you leave my heart alone
Break the spell, truth to tell,
Faeries, heed my magic spell!
She grunted with the effort and returned to her hands and knees, panting hard.
‘Stupid girl! Do you think your folk charms can stop me?’ Glitonea crowed, and reached forward for Faye’s belly with her long, blue-white fingers. But as the herb powder touched the sand, it raised a wall of shadow around Faye. Glitonea’s black fingernails grazed it, and she pulled her hand back as if in pain. ‘What is this sorcery?’ she raged, and threw herself at the shadow wall, but it threw her back like an electric fence.
‘Faye. Look at me.’ Moronoe’s hands were outstretched; Faye so wanted to fall into them; wanted the support that they promised. Of the two queens, Moronoe was at least her kin in some kind of distant way; what if Finn had been lying when he said that Moronoe wanted her child for her own reasons? Faye had believed her when she said she wasn’t involved in Lyr’s war against Murias and the other faerie realms, but that didn’t necessarily mean she could be trusted. ‘Faye. Undo this charm. We only want to help you. You are our kin, Faye. Dear child. There is no need for this,’ she cooed, her voice honey, but Faye resisted.
‘No.’ Faye panted, grateful for the protection of her own spell, though she was unsure how long it would last. She looked up, meeting Glitonea’s furious gaze. ‘Is it Finn’s baby? Tell me the truth. For once.’ Faye grimaced as another contraction came, searing and intense.
‘What kind of whore doesn’t know whose child she carries?’ Glitonea laughed cruelly; the thunder rumbled and cracked directly above them. ‘You do not deserve this child if you do not even know that. Give it to me and I will make sure it is raised in our royal house. And, you, fat bitch: get out of my way. You know as well as I do that when a mortal makes a bargain, you have no right to stand in my way to claim it.’ Glitonea shoved Moronoe out of her way and began circling the shadow boundary. ‘Your spell will only hold so long, Faye. And when it breaks, I will take the baby. You might as well give it to me gently as have me force you,’ she threatened, snarling.
Faye, on her hands and knees, felt the desire to push with the next contraction. She had no choice; the baby was coming, and wouldn’t wait. Her perception reduced itself to a kind of tunnel of pain in which there was nothing apart from the searing, tearing pain in her abdomen and the breath that heaved in her chest. Faye rested her forehead on the sand and tasted it in her mouth. Dimly, at the edge of her perception, she heard Gabriel’s voice. She looked up, racked with pain, and saw him running across the headland towards the beach.
No, keep away. Run away! Faye wanted to cry out, but she had no strength left.
‘Faye. Say the word and I will take you to Falias. I will ensure you are cared for, and the child is safe,’ Moronoe called out. ‘Just say yes, and this ordeal will be over. You do not have to fulfil a bargain such as the one the Queen of Murias proposed.’ Her voice was gentle and motherly, but Faye ignored her. She felt the last, biggest contraction hit her and she screamed with the pain. She felt the baby between her thighs and reached back with her hand for it; there was nothing to protect it from the elements. Help me, anyone, anything, please, she prayed, rolling onto her back.
The sky went black, and everything became completely silent.
Fifty-Three
Morgana Le Fay, Mistress of Magick and Queen of the Castle of the Moon, towered over Black Sands Beach like a statue carved into the headland, or an ancient effigy, risen from a land long-forgotten under the waves.
There was a sudden hush, and everything stopped: the wind, the waves, the thunder. Everything found a moment of stillness, and in that stillness, the sun shone a bright, wide beam of light onto the beach.
Faye, on her knees, feeling the baby come, was only dimly aware of it: all her attention was focused on the pain, and the overwhelming desire to push. The pain was a dark red sea, and every breath brought her to the surface for a brief second of respite before sinking back into its churning depths. There was nothing but her body and the child that seemed desperate and yet unable to get free of it: like a fish in a net, grasping and bucking, terrified of the air that awaited it, and the loss of the comfort of water.
Morgana Le Fay, the Faerie Queen of the Crystal Castle, the place where all faerie magic ended and began, held up her left hand. Her skin was black and scaled like a snake or a kelpie, and she had no fingernails. She wore a silver robe with a hood that lay on her shoulders; the outer edges of her were indistinct, shadowy; but her gaze was as though moonlight projected through slits cut in a black mask.
At her command, the two faerie queens, Moronoe and Glitonea, froze in stillness like the storm they had created. Without speaking, Morgana swept Faye into her arms and disappeared into the moonlight.
Faye awoke to the sound of quiet singing. She tried to sit up, but couldn’t; immobility forced her head back against the soft pillows that held her in a reclining position. Her eyes adjusted to the pinkish light.
She lay in a wide, white bed in the centre of the seven-pointed Crystal Castle of the Moon. It was exactly as she remembered from before: made of a pink, glowing crystal, the walls reached up into towers, and the floor under her featured a seven pointed star that mimicked the shape of the castle in black crystal of some kind – jet, perhaps, or obsidian, like Lyr’s crystal. Apart from her bed, there was nothing and no-one else there. The singing, which sounded like someone was nearby, appeared to be coming from the castle itself.
Remembering the beach – that she’d been on her hands and knees, giving birth as the two faerie queens argued over her baby – her hands went instinctively to her belly. Something was wrong. The baby. Where was the baby? She could feel nothing at all from her breastbone downwards: no pain, no movement from the child. Her belly was slightly deflated, though it was nowhere near flat.
‘Where am I? Where’s my baby?!’ Faye screamed, terror giving her strength; despite her paralysis, she pushed herself up on her arms and looked around her. ‘Please! Where have you taken my baby?!’
Her voice echoed back at her from the crystalline walls; there was no answer.
Faye started to cry. Despite everything, the child had been taken from her. She knew this was the realm of Morgana Le Fay, and was regarded as the centre of all magic in the faerie realms. What did that mean for her and the child? Did it mean that Glitonea had won, and brought them here? Or Moronoe? It seemed unlikely that it was Faye’s aunt; surely Moronoe would have taken her to her own queendom. So, she must be here at the behest of
Glitonea. Which meant that she would never see her child again…
There was a sudden movement in the air, and Morgana Le Fay appeared next to the bed. Faye took a deep breath at the faerie queen’s presence; they had met before, once, and Faye had forgotten what an intense experience it was, being in the same space as the Mistress of Magic.
Morgana’s appearance had changed; now, as she laid a hand on Faye’s brow, she appeared as a maiden – young, milk-skinned, with waist length white hair; she wore a silver crescent moon circlet on her forehead and a white garment that suggested an old fashioned nurse, with a long apron over a longer, full-skirted dress. She held a bundle in her arms.
Faye’s eyes widened, and reached for it. It felt as though her heart was exploding with a warm desperation.
‘My baby! Give him to me. Is it a boy? Or a girl? Please, Morgana. Please,’ she begged, alight with an electric blue panic that surged from her womb and clutched her heart in its cold grip. It was more than worry, more than anxiety: she needed to hold her child, like she needed to breathe and eat and drink. It was her body that told her; the baby was part of her. It needed to return to her.
Morgana smiled as a thin cry reverberated into the crystal chamber.
‘You can do better than that, little one.’ She held him aloft, above her head, and shook him gently. Faye flinched, reaching out for him. The baby cried, louder now. The faerie queen cocked her head, listening to the baby wail, and lowered the bundle so that she could study it dispassionately. ‘It is a boy,’ she added.
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