Sean followed the road down into a dell and up the other side and was abruptly confronted by a change in the landscape. Before him rose a massive forest of dark trees, and the sky above shifted rapidly from grey to black. He knew without being told that he was leaving what the Queen had called the Shadow Lands and was entering the Dark Lands.
Sean halted, daunted by what he saw. While the Shadow Lands had seemed a haunted, sad country, these Dark Lands were a place of magnificent unworldly beauty. Delicate and alien trees swayed in a soft summer night’s breeze, and in their branches night birds trilled haunting, poignant songs. Each tree had leaves of deep green and some sprouted blooms, but there was no light in the sky. Instead, the light came from the boles, the leaves, the blooms, the grasses, even the bare ground. It was a landscape of impossible phosphorescent glows, no single source of illumination providing shadows. The scent of night-blooming flowers hung in the air and crickets chirped in counterpoint to the birds’ songs. This was no brooding, evil place where mad spirits harbored their black hates against mankind. These were magic woods, fairy woods, woods of enchantment and wonder. Their beauty was nearly overpowering, yet there was nothing to fear in these soft, dark woodlands. Rather, Sean felt as if he moved through the world’s most perfect and excellent woods at night. And there were colors, but alien and unexpected. Everything looked like a faint black-light painting, with subtle hues on the flowers and leaves, but everything was alive, everything was in harmony, not twisted and corrupted as in the Shadow Lands. This was the fairy land he had expected in his heart!
Sean noticed the Quest Guide seemed to be glowing fainter; as if needing less light to be seen, it produced less light than in the Bright Lands or Shadow Lands. But otherwise the object seemed content to move along in its merry side-to-side pattern, seemingly unconcerned by its location. Given its agitated response to Sean’s request to find the Fool, the boy found this a reassuring sign. Sean silently hoped the Shining Man and the Bad Thing were still riding through the Shadow Lands and not coming back this way soon. More than anything, the boy prayed he could find Patrick and make good his escape without having to confront the Shining Man. He felt somehow that that would prove unlikely, but the thought gave him a more optimistic frame of mind.
The Quest Guide seemed to pick up speed, and Sean matched the quickening pace. He took it as a sign they were nearing their destination, or some danger was overtaking them, so his heart rate increased and he became again alert, all fatigue washed away.
Through the thick boles they passed, the pathway narrowing so much in places the boy wondered how the Shining Man’s horse managed to get through. Then suddenly they were before another fairy hill, except this one seemed bigger than the Queen’s hill, with the low-hanging branches nearly forming a black canopy above the summit. It appeared deserted, or at least Sean couldn’t see anyone.
The guide swung off the path and moved up the hillside and Sean followed, his short legs pumping as he climbed. At the crest he found a pavilion, all black silks and cushions, and within the pavilion he found Patrick.
Patrick lay amid the pile of cushions, in a deep sleep. Sean looked down upon his brother and felt his heart leap. In just the few days he had been held captive, Patrick had begun to change. He wore no clothing, save a small loincloth fashioned of leaves, and black-blossom garlands and leaves of the darkest green had been woven into his hair. His lips had been rouged to a deep red, and his eyelids painted with something that gave them a pearly sheen, as had his nails. About him tiny creatures lay sleeping and none seemed disturbed by Sean’s approach. Sean stared at them, for he was confronted for the first time with fairies who matched his boyhood expectation. Tiny sprites and pixies nestled against Patrick; each was human in appearance and nude, with delicate wings gracing their backs. But also slumbering around Patrick were creatures of less wholesome appearance, toadlike creatures and furry things of deformed aspect. Sean averted his eyes from these, as if to stare might wake them from their deep slumber.
Around the pavilion night insects buzzed, softly glowing fireflies that graced the black canopy with tiny spots of warm blue-green illumination. Haunting songs came through the evernight, as alien birds warbled their secrets. The night breeze was soft, even sensuous, in its caress and Sean felt like crying from the beauty of the place. Then upon the breeze he smelled the soft scent of wildflowers and spices, but from blooms and seasonings never seen on earth. Their musky odor set Sean’s heart to beating, and he knew that whatever was done in this bed, under this bower, if continued, would twist and change Patrick. He must get his brother away at once.
He tiptoed into the pavilion and reached down to wake Patrick. Patrick stirred heavily, as if drugged, and Sean had to shake him several times. At last his eyes opened, then widened as he perceived his twin above him. Sean made a motion for silence, and Patrick nodded, though his movement was sluggish. He had to gently move a tiny woman-creature who lay nestled against his chest to stand. The boys waited a long moment, but the pixielike creatures were deep in slumber, oblivious to Sean and Patrick’s movements. Sean took Patrick’s hand and pulled him away from the pavilion. Patrick moved sluggishly, but managed not to step on any of the sleeping sprites.
Outside, Sean took a deep breath and looked at his brother. Patrick kept blinking, as if trying to clear his vision, and he shook his head. His eyelids appeared heavy and his jaw slightly slack, as if he had to fight to keep awake.
Sean half dragged, half led Patrick down to the base of the hill. “Come on,” he whispered at the bottom, “we’ve got to get away.”
Patrick nodded, still disoriented, and Sean remembered what Barney had said about being asleep in this place. Patrick might have been asleep the entire time since the Shining Man had taken him! Even now, he was half-asleep; perhaps he thought this was a dream. He might not have any idea of where they were or what their predicament was. Sean would have to take charge and simply trust his brother to follow without question until they were safe.
The Quest Guide followed the twins down the hill. Sean had half expected it to vanish or go away once Patrick was found, but now he said, “Will you show us the way back?”
The Quest Guide bounced up and down and began to take them back the way Sean had come. The glowing orb’s presence somehow buoyed Sean’s spirits, and for the first time he actually hoped he could get his brother away from this place without encountering the Shining Man. He knew that if they could get out of the hill and stay free of the Shining Man until after midnight, the Good People would go away and they’d all be safe. Sean said softly, “Please, God, let us get home all right.”
Patrick stumbled along behind his brother, allowing himself to be pulled along by the hand, his eyes still unfocused and his expression a dreamy, faraway one. He said nothing as Sean led him back down the path to home.
38
Sean and Patrick waited. Something had caused the Quest Guide to halt its carefree movement back and forth across the road. It hung poised in midair, rotating upon its axis, as if considering which way to move. They had been back in the Shadow Lands for some time—to Sean it seemed hours, though it could have been but minutes. The woods were dark and forlorn, a place of desperation, the perfect environs for things fashioned of evil dreams and dark purposes. Trees with grey leaves and twisted black branches that never bore fruit nor bloom, ebony wood boles that lived forever in the greyest autumn, seemed trapped by the roadside, silently pleading for rescue. A bitter wind blew across Sean’s face, stinging his nostrils with the faint memory of smoke and decay. He turned to Patrick and found his brother’s eyes distant, as if his mind were far away. Patrick had been unusually quiet since being rescued. Sean had to repeat himself to get any sort of answer, and then it tended to the short and distracted, Patrick’s manner preoccupied. Sean counted it the result of Patrick’s captivity and after a while gave up on conversation, fatigue and fear making silence the easier. Sean began to walk, taking his brother by the hand. Patrick hesitated, then follo
wed a step behind.
A noise came from the trees to the right, answered a moment later from the left. Sean stopped and had to yank on Patrick’s hand to get him to halt. The noise increased on all sides, the rustle of branches being moved and the clopping of horses’ hooves and the rattle of armor. As certainty about what he faced came to Sean, riders emerged from the trees on either side, positioning themselves so that they could easily encircle the boys.
Then from the woods poured forth a host of creatures, all twisted and misshapen, in soul if not in form. Ladies of astonishing beauty, wearing translucent white gowns that flowed to the ground, half floated, half walked from between the gnarled trees. The small creatures who had been with Patrick, little bigger than hummingbirds, sped through the air to greet Sean. The riders and horses, all magnificent in splendid armor and bardings, moved slowly to surround the twins. Squat creatures of ill aspect, their hideous features set in mocking grins of evil delight, darted between the legs of the horses. Sean wondered how so many people, even the little ones, could have hidden from him only a moment before. He felt afraid but held his ground, keeping Patrick’s hand in his own and clutching tightly to the dagger.
“This is our heritage,” said a voice from behind.
Sean jumped and spun, his heart racing as the Fool looked down upon him. The horseman had silently approached him from the rear. Sean knew why the Quest Guide had stopped: The Shining Man had used magic to halt it, as had the Queen.
The Fool stood resplendent in his black and silver armor, holding his helm under one arm. His white stallion silently regarded Sean with glowing golden eyes. The armored figure moved his head slightly as he studied the small boy who stood before him, dagger held poised for battle. “You are a brave one, small warrior,” said the Fool, laughing. He called out, “Attend me, my children! Come! We have a guest.” He held out his helm and a boyish fairy ran forward and took it from his master.
As the approaching fairies circled him, Sean glanced around for any sign of escape. The Fool rode forward and halted his mount before the boys. He leaned down, his face hovering above Sean’s. “This was once as were the other lands through which you have passed,” said the Fool. He turned and with a wide sweep of his hand indicated the barren woods. “Between the Bright Lands and the Dark Lands, these were the Twilight Lands, where the children of the People played as we who were their masters looked on. All was in balance and all was in harmony, and the one court was at peace. I ruled, my Queen at my side. And it was good. Then came the Magi with their spells and conjurations, and a great battle was fought.” He sat upright in the saddle, pulling himself to the limit of his majestic height, and his voice was proud. “The struggle was heroic.” Then his voice quieted. “But we were vanquished, and forced to swear to the Compact.” Again leaning forward to face Sean, he said, “This is our heritage. This is the handiwork of your race, the Shadow Lands. The balance was destroyed, the harmony ended, and the powers rent asunder, so that now where the one court reigned, two are pitted in strife. My Queen no longer stands at my side. And naught is good.” Narrowing his gaze as he studied Sean, he said, “So tell me, small and brave boy, what do you think of your race’s gifts to the People?”
Sean glanced over at Patrick, who still seemed dazed. Sean swallowed hard. The Fool leaned down again and his hand moved toward Sean tentatively. A scant half inch from his shoulder, it was snatched back. “You still wear the ward, boy.” He reached out, a seemingly impossible reach, and grabbed Patrick. “But this one does not! He will remain, boy, and so shall you.” With a laugh of madness, he added, “I shall have my brace.” Patrick hung from the Shining Man’s hand, like a kitten held by the scruff of the neck, without protest or movement.
Sean swallowed fear. Slowly, so as not to get it wrong, he said, “Amadán-na-Briona. In the name of our Lord Jesus, I command you and your court to let go my brother and don’t you follow us.” Through fear and doubt he knew he hadn’t gotten it exactly like Barney had told him to say, but he prayed to the Lady in the church that it was good enough.
The Fool threw back his head and screamed as if in pain, and the surrounding fairies stepped back, breath indrawn like some sudden gust of wind. The Fool’s stallion reared and spun about, his forelegs pawing the air and his hind legs stamping the ground, as if the animal shared his master’s rage. The Fool maintained his seat yet kept both arms outstretched, holding Patrick in one hand as if he weighed nothing. Light burned brightly about him, an aura of angry, fierce illumination. The sound of the Fool’s shriek terrified Sean and he also stepped back with a shudder, and a sob escaped his lips. Tears ran down his face at the terrible sound, but he stood fast, rejecting the urge to run. The scream filled the air, evoking memories of that tormented sound Sean had made the night the Shining Man had come and stolen Patrick. On and on it went, an impossible raw noise of rage and hate. Then it trailed off and the armored figure turned a mask of pure insanity toward Sean. The illumination around the Fool lessened as he dropped Patrick, and the boy fell heavily to the ground, where he shook his head slightly, as if trying to gather his wits, and slowly got to his feet. The black form of the Bad Thing appeared from within the press and scampered over to Patrick, holding him by the arm, awaiting his master’s bidding. The Shining Man’s expression turned from pain to rage. He reached down and grabbed the front of Sean’s loose blouse and with a powerful lift pulled Sean toward him, despite the fact the contact with one wearing a fairy stone was clearly causing him pain. Sean emitted a tiny yelp of startled fear and lashed out with his dagger, slicing the back of the Shining Man’s hand, shouting, “Let go!”
The Fool screamed in pain and released the boy. Sean fell into the roadway, where he sat for a moment, watching the Fool. He grabbed his hand, as if struck by agony, and writhed in the saddle, the light around him again increasing. The horse pranced nervously while his master screamed. The sound continued, and the other fairies drew back another step. Then the sound diminished and the light diminished, and the Fool sat motionless atop his horse in front of Sean. Through clenched teeth, with blue eyes flashing as if with mad lightning, the Fool said, “You have my name, mortal child. I must do what you’ve willed, for the geas is upon me. But you’ve not yet won free. The way back is long. And you may only command me once, and that you’ve done. I’ll do as you’ve bidden, but no more!” He sat holding his wounded hand as red blood flowed freely across the back of it. He waved it three times in the air, and the wound vanished. With a mad laugh, he spun his mount around to regard his minions. “Let them go, for they’ve my word ’pon it!” The crowd of dark fairies ceased to move menacingly toward Sean, save the Bad Thing, who reached out and began pulling Patrick away by the hand.
The Fool shrieked again, in glee rather than rage and pain. He sat astride his horse, his face alight with a madness equal to that shown the night he had come to the boys’ room. His animal pawed the ground, snorting and showing the whites of his eyes. Sean hurried over to his brother’s side. The Bad Thing crouched down, backing away from Patrick, its simple intelligence in turmoil at its master’s change of orders. Sean regarded this fearsome creature, finding it smaller in stature than he had thought. Its almost glowing brown and yellow eyes blinked as they followed Sean’s movement, then it turned to regard the Shining Man, awaiting orders. A terrible anger struck Sean—he was tired of being frightened and bossed around by these creatures. Sean shouted, “Leave us alone!” He slashed wildly at the Bad Thing and it fell away, hissing in anger and fearful of the silver dagger. The creature bared fangs, but Sean menaced it again with the dagger and the creature scampered back to crouch at the rear of his master’s horse.
Patrick seemed still in a daze, his eyes unfocused, and he showed no sign of recognition. Uncertain what to do next, Sean pulled on Patrick’s hand, as if to lead him back down the road.
Patrick followed a few feet; then the Fool’s voice sounded. “Patrick, take him!”
Sean felt his arm jerked and he spun around as Patrick pl
anted his feet. Patrick yanked again and Sean fell. Then Patrick was atop his brother. Sean had never been able to best Patrick in a scrap. All their young lives, there had always been something holding him back, some limit on how much anger he could focus on his brother, as if to visit pain on Patrick were to visit it upon himself. Patrick had never seemed to share that inhibition, freely punishing Sean when their sibling conflicts had come to a head. Now Sean knew that to lose this struggle would be to lose more than another brotherly tussle.
With a fury new to him, he heaved Patrick aside and rolled away. Then another figure leaped into the fray, and Sean smelled decay in his face. Powerful arms grappled with him, and the sounds of shrieking told him that the owner of those hands paid the price for touching him, as the magic of the fairy stone caused the Bad Thing torment. Sean didn’t hesitate. Blindly, wildly, he lashed out with his dagger and felt the point dig in. The Bad Thing howled in pain and fled, leaving the half-dazed Sean sitting on the white road.
Sean could hear the roar of the Fool’s anger echoing through the murky woods and the shrieking of the Bad Thing as it fled through the trees, but he could see only Patrick as his brother again hurled himself atop Sean. Sean felt the jar in his shirt shatter and felt water drench his side. The holy water! He had forgotten to release Patrick from the Fool’s control and now the water was spilled.
Frantic, his terror at losing Patrick giving him a near-hysterical strength, Sean shoved his brother aside and gripped the side of his shirt with his left hand, drenching it with water. He let Patrick leap at him again, and reached out with his wet hand. Smearing Patrick’s face with the water, he clumsily made the sign of the cross and half grunted, “In the name of our Lord, you are free!”
Faerie Tale Page 41