by Alex Bledsoe
“Can we wait with y’all, too?” a new voice said.
Janet Harper and Ginny Vipperman emerged from the woods. When Janet had heard the song about Sadieville, she’d immediately sung it for Ginny. And when they heard about the expedition, they couldn’t help wondering whether the stories they’d always heard about the Tufa’s original, beautiful home were true. And if they’d live to see it for themselves.
Like Tain, they walked up to the cave and stared into its darkness, looking for answers that they imagined were hidden there.
“Doesn’t look like much,” Ginny observed.
“What did you expect?” Janet asked.
“I dunno, something more … epic.”
“If it was epic, it would’ve been found before now.”
“I’m still a little disappointed.”
“You might as well find a spot in the shade,” Tucker said. “This could be a while.”
“Come on,” Ginny said with a wink. “I got something to help us pass the time.”
“Don’t tell me,” Janet said. “it starts with a g.”
“‘Goint’?”
“Grass.”
“Oh. No, it’s a joint.” Ginny turned to the others. “Y’all are cool, right? You won’t tell our folks or anything.”
“They won’t hear it from us,” Mandalay promised, knowing full well their parents were totally aware of what their girls did, and were just glad they usually stayed at home to do it.
* * *
Janet and Ginny went a few yards away and found a mossy rock, in the shadow of a cedar tree, that gave them an unobstructed view of the cave. Ginny lit up the joint and passed it to Janet. As Janet drew in the smoke, Ginny said, “Think they have weed over there?”
“Never thought about it,” Janet said through her smoky exhalation. She caught Veronica’s eye and made an offering motion with the joint. Veronica shook her head.
“But you can have everything you want there, right?”
“You’re thinking of heaven.”
“But that is Tufa heaven. Our heaven.”
“No it’s not. It’s just the place where we came from.”
“You don’t sound very excited.”
Janet took another toke and looked up at the cave. Veronica still paced, Tain and Mandalay still sat, and Tucker settled back into his camp chair.
“I’ll get excited,” Janet said at last, “when I hear their music.”
* * *
The air in the cave was now almost cold. The only sounds were their mixed breathing, grunts of effort, and boots crunching gravel. The circle of flashlight illumination ahead showed the same sort of terrain over and over: rocks, stalactites and stalagmites, a reflection where water splashed down from the ceiling. In a couple of places they’d had to crouch, and in one crawl on their bellies, pushing their gear ahead of them.
“All right, ten-minute break,” Bliss said. “Everyone sit down and drink some water. I’m turning off the light to save the battery.”
They dumped their packs and slumped to the ground. The exertion hit Snowy, the most out of shape, the hardest. He said between gasps, “I think … we might want to … reconsider our strategy here.”
“I second that motion,” Bronwyn said.
“We keep going,” Bliss said firmly.
“Is that for the boy,” Bronwyn said, annoyed, “or for you?”
Then there was silence. Bliss did not answer. After a moment Bronwyn mumbled, “Sorry.”
As they sat in total darkness, they began to see spots of light in their peripheral vision that vanished when they looked at them directly. None of them wanted to be the first to mention it, in case it was just something generated by their brains to fill in the darkness. But before long they resolved into spots of soft blue glow from lichen on some of the rocks.
“Foxfire,” Bronwyn said.
“Somewhere two foxes are getting married,” Bliss said, verbalizing the legend behind the glow.
“Wait,” Bronwyn said. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“It’s simple,” Snowy deadpanned. “When two foxes love each other very much—”
“Not that.” She crawled to one of the glowing spots. Her fingers encountered a pile of soft and crumbly sticks, the glowing fungus growing from the decaying surface.
“That’s what I thought,” she said. “This stuff only grows on decaying wood. Give me the light, Bliss.”
Bliss turned on the flashlight and shone it at Bronwyn’s feet. There was a stack of partially burned sticks nestled in an alcove just off the passage.
“That looks like a fire,” Snowy said. “A real one, not a fox one.”
“An old one,” Bronwyn said, “but not too old. The wood’s still damp enough for the foxfire to grow. If it had been here a long time, it would’ve dried out.”
“So what does that tell us?” Snowy asked.
“That maybe we’re closer than farther,” Bliss said. “Let’s get going.”
They’d gone another hundred yards when Bliss stopped suddenly and whispered, “Listen!”
Beyond the soft drip drip of moisture, over the soft sigh of barely moving air, they all heard it. And recognized it.
Fairy music.
It touched each of them differently, but all of them at the same core level. For Bliss it reminded her of childhood, of running through fields of flowers or soaring above thick forests. There had been nothing but joy then, a happiness that she’d never even remotely reached since she was forced to leave. Yet now, hearing those lilting notes, it all came back, reminding her of the crudity of the human world, and the sheer delicate nirvana of her real home.
Bronwyn felt an ache in her heart, but it wasn’t for the land ahead. Of course she’d heard stories of it, and fantasized about it. But she’d seen more of the human world than most Tufa, and she understood that most places were neither entirely good nor bad. Their ancestral home might be more suited to the Tufa in some ways, but there had to be flaws, and problems, and aspects that left some of its denizens unsatisfied. After all, it was ruled by a queen who would banish a whole population for the failure of its leader to win her a stupid bet. How perfect could it be?
No, the ache in Bronwyn’s heart was for her daughter and husband, her anchors and quiet sources of strength. What was she doing here, risking her life for a stranger, leaving them alone and possibly never coming back to them?
But she knew the answer. She did it because someone had to, and she had the necessary skills and experience. If she hadn’t come, she wouldn’t be the woman she wanted her daughter to see.
Snowy’s response was more primal. After all the time spent with Tain and her intense sexuality, he responded to this music with arousal and excitement. The idea of a whole world of women like Tain, all of them willing and glad to have him, almost had him vapor locked. He had to really struggle to keep his attention on the task at hand.
Bliss said, “Deep breaths, everybody. We knew it would affect us. Just stay focused.”
“No problem,” Bronwyn said.
“I’m fine,” Snowy said, his voice a little ragged.
They resumed their trek. The passage twisted and turned as they crept along, and soon they were thoroughly disoriented, unsure if they’d gone up or down, forward or back.
“We must be close,” Bliss said. “This is all designed to confuse us.”
“You mean it’s not real?” Snowy said.
“No, it’s real. It’s just not natural; it’s deliberate.”
“Turn off your flashlight,” Bronwyn whispered.
Bliss did so. Again they waited for their eyes to adjust.
They saw a faint glow ahead, made of white sunlight instead of the foxfire’s soft blue. And the music came from the same direction.
“Holy shit,” Snowy breathed. “There it is.”
“Deep breaths, people,” Bliss said. “Are we ready?”
“Damn skippy,” Snowy replied.
“As ready as we’re likely to be,”
Bronwyn said.
Bliss turned the flashlight back on, since the faint sunlight didn’t yet provide enough illumination. They headed toward the light, and the music.
They reached the mouth of the cave and squinted into the light. Through her fingers, Bliss saw not the Tír na nÓg of her oldest memories, but a village of low, square buildings on either side of a wide street that started at the cave and stretched to the other end of the town.
Bronwyn finally asked, “Is that…?”
Bliss slowly nodded. “It’s Sadieville.”
35
“Looks like quite the party,” Craig Chess said as he emerged from the woods. Kell followed, holding his hand while serious eyes peeked out through her unruly bangs.
“Who’s that?” Tain whispered to Mandalay.
“Bronwyn’s husband.” She stood up and brushed off her jeans. “What brings you here, Reverend?”
“Seemed like a good day for a walk in the woods. Figured I’d find some of you around here.” To Kell he said, “Want to go see Mandalay?”
“Come here, munchkin,” Mandalay said, reaching out. The girl jumped into her arms.
“Is Mommy here?” Kell asked.
“She will be soon,” Mandalay said, with a certainty she didn’t feel.
The girl looked at the cave. “I don’t like that place,” she said seriously.
“Don’t worry, we’re not going in there,” Mandalay assured her. “We’re just going to stay out here and wait.”
“Is that where Mommy went?”
“Yes. But you know how tough she is. And she wasn’t alone. Your aunt Bliss went with her.”
The girl seemed satisfied with that, but she continued to stare into the opening while Mandalay held her.
Craig also gazed into the dark cave mouth. He said quietly, “I know how tough Bronwyn is, believe me. But I’ve also heard the stories about that place.” He sighed, then added, “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Craig accepted the Tufa with no judgment, and had once helped Mandalay through a spiritual crisis. He’d never insisted that Bronwyn convert to his religion, or that she abandon her Tufa family if she wanted to be with him. He simply did the things that made both her and the Tufa first appreciate him: he helped where he could, listened when he needed to, and stayed out of things that weren’t his concern. She could imagine how hard that could be, especially now that he had a Tufa daughter.
Yet here he was, asking if he could help.
“Craig,” Mandalay said, “you believe prayer can influence the way things come out, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“Then I hope you’re praying right now.”
“I am,” he said. “I surely am.”
He felt a hand on his arm. “Craig?”
He turned to Veronica. “Hey, Veronica,” he said easily. “How are you holding up?”
“Okay, I guess. It’s nerve-racking just sitting here and waiting.”
“I can imagine. Can I get you anything?”
“No, I’m okay. Do you really think they can bring him back?”
“If anyone can,” he said with absolute certainty, “it’s my wife. In all the time I’ve known her, she’s never failed at anything she decides to do.”
Veronica nodded, wanting desperately to believe him. “It’s just all this waiting.”
“Like Tom Petty says, it’s the hardest part,” Craig agreed.
She looked at him blankly. “I don’t know that song. It is a song, right?”
“Yes. Before your time. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
She struggled for words. “This will sound weird, I know it, I just … I’m used to seeing priests as some sort of minor deities, you know? As a child, they terrified me. They still do, actually. But…”
“But what?”
“I overheard you say you were praying. For your wife?”
“Yes. And for you. And for Justin, like you asked.”
“Thanks, Craig. I mean, Reverend,” she corrected.
“Craig is fine.”
She nodded and walked back down the hill. When she reached the shade, she began to pace again, eyes downcast. Craig wanted to do more, but he knew there was nothing for him at the moment. Like her, he could only wait.
He walked up to the cave and peered inside again. He saw nothing but rock, stretching back into blackness. He listened, but heard only the soft sigh of the wind.
“Spooky, isn’t it?”
He looked down at Tain Wisby, seated with her back to the exposed rock. He blinked a little as she had the same effect on him that she did on any man, Tufa or otherwise.
“I’m Tain,” she said. “You must be Bronwyn’s husband.”
“Yes,” he said uncomfortably. “Craig.”
“Tain!” Mandalay said warningly.
She sighed and stood. “Fine. Nice to meet you.” She walked down the hill toward Veronica, and it took all of Craig’s strength of character not to watch her as she did so.
He wrenched his attention to his daughter, who now happily played pattycake with Mandalay. He knew that in many ways, Mandalay had more in common with her than he did. They shared the same fairy blood, after all.
But he also knew whom she called out to when she had a bad dream or an owie. And that made him smile.
He just hoped her next bad dream wouldn’t be wondering why her mother never came back.
* * *
“What the hell?” Snowy demanded for them all.
There was no denying it, if only from the signage: Sadieville Tavern, Sadieville Dry Goods, Sadieville Barbershop. At the far end of the street, on the mountainside that rose above it, was the opening of the Great Sadie mine, its machinery all present and ready to go. Only one thing seemed off: above the mountain rose the towers of a distant, impossibly large castle, its minarets barely visible through the haze.
And it was deserted: no miners worked, no families strolled, no children scampered. There were no horses, carts, or primitive automobiles. The dusty street bore their traces, but the sources were nowhere in sight. The buildings were still, and quiet, like a museum exhibit or an abandoned ghost town. The only sound was the soft whistling of the wind.
“Well, we won’t find out anything standing here,” Bliss said at last. “Come on.”
Knowing full well the cave might vanish behind them and trap them here, they stepped from it onto the street. The faint music faded as soon as they did.
Now the only sound, besides the wind, was the crunch of their feet on the dirt road. To their right stood the half-built church, and the tree where Sophronie Conlin was lynched. Ahead they saw the boardinghouse where Sean Lee had stayed.
“This is creepy,” Snowy said softly. The silence felt heavy and oddly sacrosanct.
“Why are we seeing Sadieville?” Bronwyn asked. “It’s not what Veronica described at all. Is it what you remember?”
“No,” Bliss said. Even more than with the ghost of Rockhouse Hicks, she felt the chill of vague, uncertain terror. “I do know this place can appear as anything it wants to non-Tufa, but we should see it as it really is.”
“Is it a trap?” Bronwyn asked quietly.
“I have no idea,” Bliss replied honestly.
Snowy nodded at the distant castle. “What about that? Is that really where she lives?”
“She lives anywhere she wants to in this world,” Bliss answered. “But yes, that’s her castle.”
“Too bad we can’t just call Justin and have him meet us here,” Snowy said.
Impulsively, Bronwyn pulled out her phone and punched in a number.
“What are you doing?” Snowy asked.
“Calling Justin. I got his number from Veronica.”
“That’s crazy! You actually get a signal?”
“It’s ringing. Hello? Is this Justin? Justin, I’m a friend of Veronica’s. She’s worried to death about you. You need to come back to the cave now. We’ll take you back to her.”
She listened,
then growled impatiently. “The little bastard hung up on me.”
Snowy was still flummoxed. “But … that’s a cell phone. There are no cell towers here. I mean … are there?”
Bronwyn ignored him. To Bliss, she said, “He sounded drunk. And I heard a girl giggling.”
“Do neither of you think it’s weird that a cell phone works here?” Snowy almost shouted.
“I’m not worried about it,” Bliss said. “You know how time doesn’t work the same for everybody? Well, here, neither do the laws of physics.”
“Great,” Snowy snarked. “Sitting in my own driveway? Nothing. But a supernatural fairy realm? Five fucking bars.”
Then, loud in the almost silence, two fiddles began scraping out a tune. All three jumped.
On the porch of the nearest building, which had appeared empty moments before, two red-capped fiddlers now sat in rocking chairs, sawing away at a sprightly melody. Bliss recognized it as “The Devil Went Down to Georgia.”
Suddenly the fiddlers stopped and, in spooky unison, turned to look at the newcomers. Their faces were weathered, with long gray beards, and their eyes lacked anything like kindness.
Snowy waved nervously. “Hi … y’all.”
They jumped to their feet and scurried out of sight down the nearest alley between the buildings.
“Hey, wait!” Snowy called.
“Don’t waste your time,” Bliss said. “Those were just sentries.”
“For her?”
The steady thumping of a drum, a big drum, reached them.
“Now what is that?” Bronwyn said, and nodded up the street.
A band of people emerged from an alley on the opposite side, far up the way. They were dressed in the style of Sadieville’s era, all stiff suits and long dresses, bonnets and bowler hats. Some of the women fluttered fans in front of their faces. Except for the marching bass drum at the front of the train, carried and played by a small old man who could barely keep it off the ground, they were silent. They looked like an old-fashioned temperance parade, except they carried no signs.
“Think they know where Justin is?” Snowy asked.
“Wait,” Bliss said.
“Why?” Bronwyn asked.
“Something’s wrong.” A dark shiver crawled at the edge of her consciousness, an impending sense of … something. It certainly wasn’t the way she remembered this place feeling.