Fell Beasts and Fair

by C. J. Brightley

  The wave surged back, still flying over the land, with the satyr suspended inside. His mouth gaped when he met Elida’s eyes, but whatever insult he tried to shout cost him his last breath. The water parted over Elida, whisking the goat-man to one side, and flowed back into its pool.

  She stood, and turned to the pond. The light-spangled surface was perfectly smooth, although Elida could see a brown form struggling in the depths, chained in golden lights.

  She could hear adults shouting her name, and she looked to the hill. A perfect line of rain clouds waited at the top of the ridge, dazzling with spots of white light in their dark depths. A thick fence of rain was coming down. The Elders, all wearing blue cloaks, were spaced evenly underneath it with their thick staffs held high. She saw one distant figure gesture to someone behind to stay back, and then they all stepped as one, moving the rain and the clouds closer to the burning forest. A crowd pressed forward just behind the rain.

  They were coming for her. The village was braving the satyr to come for their child, but they were only coming for her, and they were too slow to help the dryad.

  Elida turned away and plunged into the fiery trees. She followed the water’s path over wet, extinguished logs back to the clearing. The flames here had been extinguished by the living pond, but the dryad was no more than wet ash outlined by skeletal sticks. Her petals, and her lively magic, were gone from the corpse.

  Elida fell heavily to the ground with a sob. She reached out to touch one burned rib, and the thin charcoal crumbled beneath her fingers. Her fingers followed it down until she hit something firm, and she sat up and brushed ash away.

  A pinecone as large as her head was at the center of the burned dryad, its scales fully open. Bright lights glowed within. She lifted it and saw a newborn baby curled in one of its crevices, and then another, and another. Each would fit in the palm of her hand, and had a greenish inner glow. The tiny dryads slept, folded tightly in their niches.

  Elida lifted the pinecone reverently, cradling it in her arms.

  She walked back toward the pond, her burned skin aching. She could hear adults shouting. Her father’s voice was loudest above the others, calling her name. She emerged from the trees to see the line of rain more than halfway down the grassy hill, advancing slowly, with the adults of the village gathered behind it.

  When he saw Elida, her father ran forward through the barrier of water, ignoring the Elders. He lifted her, and she folded herself up against him, curling limply around the pinecone. She smelled sweat in the bend of his neck. Others followed him, running forward to surround Elida and her father, then spreading out to roam curiously. The Elders on the hillside lowered their arms, and the clouds cleared.

  After a long quiet, her father spoke. “Elida,” he said. His voice was thick with fear but already getting hard and scolding by the end of her name. “You—”

  “Did you see the water?” a soft voice interrupted him.

  Her father lowered Elida from his face and turned to the speaker.

  The oldest of the wizards, his thin hair soaking wet, stood before them. “Did you see the water? Don’t scold the child,” he said. He looked deeply into Elida’s eyes and then down to the pinecone she held. He nodded at her slightly.

  The Elder took off his own damp cloak. He lifted the blue mantle and placed it around her shoulders, and then he tucked it over the pinecone. The wizard held out his hand. “Racker,” he called.

  The older boy stepped out of the crowd. “She’s the youngest,” he protested.

  Elida gently squeezed her small charges.

  “That’s a satyr,” said the Elder, “dead at the hands of an untrained child. She has discovered something that she needs to teach us all.” He beckoned with his fingers, never taking his dark eyes from Elida.

  Racker stepped forward and gave up the ship-shaped brooch.

  Elida put her cheek back down on her father’s shoulder. “I don’t want to stand by the table,” she said, looking over the water at the blackened tree trunks. Her childhood freedom had burned today. She saw the friendly sparkles in the pool, and she felt the tip of the pinecone bite into the soft flesh under her jaw. “The wild little ones are part of our village too. That’s all.”

  The Elder gently plucked a fold of blue cloth away from Elida’s chest. “Then your only work is to remind us of that lesson while you go about your business.” He pinned the ship to her robe with a soft touch.

  The pond winked to Elida as she was carried home.

  About the Author

  C.A. Barrett is a lifelong reader and writer. This is her first fiction publication.

  The Pooka’s Day

  Darrell J. Pursiful

  Danny stopped cold as the end of the woman’s walking stick poked him in the chest.

  “We don’t want any trouble,” she whispered. “You can just move along.”

  He should have heard them coming—five of them all told, but he hadn’t been paying attention. Too much on his mind. He just charged across the cow path on his way back to the creek, and there they were.

  As it was, he barely had time to throw on a decent husk. He was pretty sure they didn’t notice, though, when his ears and nose shortened to more human proportions and the glow faded from his amber eyes.

  Whoever these people were, their leader meant business. One of the others sucked in a labored breath. Two more, children, whimpered in the dark.

  “M-miss Claudia?” a different woman whispered, “Lige… he ain’t looking so good.” This woman was helping the only man in the group to stand. Danny sniffed the air. Amid the soil and grass and growing things was the unmistakable iron scent of blood. He spied a ripped and bloody trouser leg.

  The first woman’s eyes blazed. She and her friends were dressed in dingy, patched clothes barely fit for a brownie. That and their dark skin was all he could make out.

  He raised his hands. “Whatever you say, ma’am.” He wasn’t in a mood for any mischief. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He still had three more farms to case before daybreak. But he didn’t have time for anybody else’s mischief. Not tonight. Not with him liable to show up at any minute.

  “And not one word, you hear?” The rumble in her voice demanded Danny’s full cooperation.

  He was about to say something when he caught the sound of dogs barking.

  “Lord have mercy!” the other woman gasped. The younger child, no more than four years old, started to cry, but his big sister slapped a hand across his mouth.

  The first woman spun and raised her stick horizontal to the ground.

  “Head for the woods,” she ordered. “Go!”

  Four shadows stumbled past.

  “Those are my woods!” Danny’s throat went dry. Something settled in the pit of his stomach. He was fairly sure he shut the door…

  “You want to make something of it, mister?”

  “You don’t understand. You ain’t got no business poking around over there. It could be… dangerous.”

  “It’s about to be dangerous right here, now that those slave catchers have caught up with us.”

  Slave catchers! It suddenly made sense. He’d stumbled upon a group of runaways. Seems he’d overheard something about a new law the deathlings had passed. Folks at the Crawford farm were talking about it. Even in a free state like Indiana, runaway slaves could be rounded up and sent back down south.

  There was no way they were going without a fight.

  Two hound dogs burst into view. The woman, Claudia, held out her walking stick with her right hand and angled her body away from them. She let a worn leather satchel slip off her shoulder to the ground. Danny dropped to a crouch.

  “If you know what’s good for you, mister, you’ll stay nice and still till I say differently.”

  “But—”

  “Shh!”

  The dogs bounded forward.

  The woman uttered a word. The nearest dog flew backward with a yelp.

  Magic! Danny stood mystified as the woman tra
ined her walking stick on the second dog. She blasted it just as she had the first one.

  “You’re a witch?”

  “Later,” she said. She held her walking stick upright. “They’re coming.”

  Claudia was right; Danny heard the sound of approaching footsteps.

  She began to chant a singsong tune.

  “You find ‘em, boys?” a man said. He lumbered into view on the edge of the corn field—big and swaggering, with a shotgun in one hand and a lantern in the other. “Chief? Banjo? Here, boys!”

  Something told Danny Chief and Banjo were taking the rest of the night off.

  Two more shadows joined the first. The woman kept chanting. Her voice was barely audible beneath the cold autumn breeze.

  The three men trudged forward a few more steps, but slowly. The closer they came, the slower they got.

  The first man toppled to his knees by the time he came even with the first of the unconscious dogs. The second brought his shotgun to his shoulder… but wobbled backward with the effort. A minute later, all three lay on the grass, mumbling and snoring.

  “That was some mighty slick conjuring,” Danny said.

  “Not now,” the woman hissed. She had spun around to see where her friends had gone. She gave an exasperated sigh. “They were right there!” she said.

  “Uh oh!” Danny said. The others were nowhere to be seen—and Danny had a sinking feeling he knew where they had gone.

  “Now, you gotta admit this ain’t my fault!” he said. He looked about frantically. Surely they didn’t…

  “What?”

  “I warned you those was my woods.” He started toward the tree line at an easy lope. The woman reclaimed her satchel, hitched her skirts, and followed.

  “I would think you’d understand why my passengers needed a place to hide!”

  “Yeah, it’s just… Well, maybe you’d better see for yourself.” Danny came to a stop. He wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers.

  “See what?”

  “Um…” Danny held up his right hand. With an effort of will, he produced an orb of golden flame and held it like a ball.

  The woman’s eyes flashed as she jabbed her walking stick once more into Danny’s chest.

  “You’re a witch, too?” she said, astonished.

  “Not exactly.” Danny looked down. The woman followed his gaze to the ring of mushrooms spread out in a circle eight feet across. A subtle wisp of sparkling dust rose from it like gold and silver fireflies.

  When the woman raised her eyes to Danny once more, he had dropped the illusion of a human appearance. He stood before her with his eyes glowing yellow and the points of his ears peaking over the brim of his flat woolen cap.

  “You’re one of the Fair Folk.” She said it without fear or amazement.

  “A pooka,” he said. “Danny’s the name.”

  “And you just… left this portal open? What were you thinking?”

  “It’s Hallowe’en!” he protested. “You know how hard it is to shut a portal down proper on Hallowe’en? Plus, I was in a hurry! I still got three farms to visit! But if your friends stepped into the ring, we’d better—”

  The witch didn’t let him finish. She just barged into the mushroom ring and vanished.

  Danny followed. With his first step, there was a brief shimmer of light and the feel of a gentle breeze on his face. Then everything was back to normal. He had crossed into the Wonder.

  The witch was already ten yards ahead of him. She had cast some kind of light spell on the tip of her walking stick—not faery fire, but close enough—and was holding it over her head as she inched along the forest path.

  “Susanna!” she called. “Elijah!”

  No one answered.

  Danny caught up with her. “Miss Claudia, is it?” he whispered. “My cabin is up ahead. Maybe they headed that way.”

  Her icy silence was all the answer Danny got.

  “And keep it down, if you don’t mind. See, I’m kind of expecting somebody… and…”

  She walked away. Danny followed. A minute later, she offered, “Elijah’s injured. He had a run-in with one of those catchers’ dogs. And now this!”

  “Look, I tried to tell you to stay out of the woods…”

  “Now you listen here,” the witch said, spinning back and drilling a finger into Danny’s chest. Her voice was low but seething with anger. “Those people are my passengers. They’re my responsibility, understand? If anything has happened to them… Well, sir, I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes.” Once again, the rumble in her voice got Danny’s full attention.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She continued down the path.

  They inched forward. “Elijah!” Claudia softly called, looking this way and that. “Betsy! Timothy!”

  “Turn left here, Miss Claudia. That’ll take you to my place.”

  “Susanna! Can you hear me?”

  There was a rustle in the trees. Claudia aimed her stick at something she thought she saw.

  “Probably just little folk,” Danny whispered. “They come around sometimes to bum tobacco or some such. They ain’t gonna hurt nobody.”

  Claudia merely grumbled.

  Just then a tiny man appeared out of nowhere on the path in front of them. He was barely two feet tall, dressed in buckskins, with his hair held back in a beaded headband. Claudia trained the glowing tip of her walking stick at him, and he let out a stifled peep of fright.

  “Shh!” the little man hissed—even though he was the only one to make a sound. Danny reached for Claudia’s hand. She yanked herself free and backed away from both men.

  “We got trouble, Danny,” the little man whispered.

  Danny gestured for Claudia to hold her fire as he dropped to one knee.

  “What’s up, Littleberry?”

  “Somebody’s at your cabin.”

  “Well, good,” Danny said. “We was looking for ‘em. Four big folks?”

  “Not good!” Littleberry said. “Those big folks showed up maybe five, ten minutes ago. But that’s not what I’m talking about.” He leaned in closer. “Greycoat’s here.”

  Littleberry shuddered, and his whole body shook. If Greycoat gave Danny the willies, there was no telling what he did to Littleberry.

  Danny swallowed. “About time.”

  “He just now showed up. I got out the back way and came to find you.”

  “Who?” Claudia said.

  “By oak, ash, and thorn, don’t he know I can’t pay him tonight?”

  “Who?”

  “We had a deal. I can’t do him no favors this close to November first! It’s my busiest time of year!” Danny cursed under his breath. “Where are the four big folks now?”

  “Me and the boys got ‘em inside at your place. We just come by looking for you. We wanted to give you a present, tomorrow being your birthday and all. One of them’s hurt. One of the big folks, I mean.”

  “I know.”

  “We glamoured ‘em all up as best we could. I don’t think Greycoat saw them.”

  “Well, at least that’s something.”

  “Hey.” Claudia snapped her fingers in front of Danny’s face. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

  “Let’s just say I got some trouble with the landlord,” Danny said. “And I’m sorry to say it, Miss Claudia, but it looks like your passengers are stuck in the middle of it.”

  “Show me.”

  If Danny never had another visit from Egil Greycoat, he wouldn’t have shed a tear. But there he was, standing outside Danny’s cabin with his arms folded, tapping his toes. His pale skin was only slightly darker than his long, platinum hair. His clothing, however, was dusky gray—topcoat, trousers, riding boots, sheathed cavalry sword at his side.

  Above his head floated two blue-white will-o’-the-wisps. They flitted and flickered like living things, casting dim shadows on the ground.

  The trunk of the Virginia pine at the edge of the clearing gave Danny, Claudia, and Littleberry a hidin
g place while they took it all in.

  “Underhill!” the elf shouted. His accent was vaguely Germanic. “I would have words with thee.”

  When Greycoat was born, people still said “thee.” Apparently, he never saw the need to change.

  Danny gestured for Claudia to stay put. It surprised him when she obeyed.

  He took a breath. There were four deathlings in his cabin with two or three little folk. One of those deathlings was injured, maybe badly. Danny figured Claudia could do something about his wound if she could get to him, but that was going to be the hard part.

  The way he saw it, he had two advantages. One, the runaways were protected behind the threshold of his cabin. It wasn’t much of a threshold: it wasn’t much of a cabin! But every home generates a barrier against magical intruders. And unlike his little folk friends, Danny had never invited Greycoat in. If things went bad—and Danny didn’t see how they wouldn’t—his cabin would give everybody at least a little bit of protection.

  Two, Greycoat didn’t know about Claudia. Danny didn’t know how much magic she could pull off, but she was a sight to see against those slave catchers. He’d have to keep her presence a secret if he could.

  By contrast, Egil Greycoat only had one advantage: he was Egil Greycoat. He may not have been the match of a powerful sídhe, but Danny wouldn’t have bet against him. He knew too well the elf was powerful, fast, and tricky. Furthermore, he was close to the Erlking of Twear—close enough there’d be the devil to pay if anything unfortunate ever happened to him.

  More magic. Better connections. And Danny owed him a favor.

  He didn’t want to give away Claudia and Littleberry’s position, so instead of just walking out of the woods, he blinked—disappearing and then reappearing half a second later in a flash of superheated dust. He chose a landing spot to Greycoat’s left, in clear view of the cabin door.