by S. C. Green
Time passed. The Queen was giving him trouble. Every time he drew her expression, it seemed off, as if the stone was moving every time he looked down at his pad. Leave it. Copy her face from the picture in Dad's book. He moved on, sketching in her cascading hair and the drapery in her dress. He was actually starting to enjoy himself. The knot in his stomach started to unwind.
He was adding shading to the bottom of her skirt when drops of water fell on his drawing.
"Hey, Dave, watch it!"
More drops fell, smudging the rendered face.
He looked up. Dave was gone.
In fact, the whole garden had fallen silent. He could hear no birds, no footsteps, no cars on the bypass, no laughing children. And though the breeze still blew, he could hear no rustle of leaves sliding across the path.
He snapped his pad shut, and felt something wet creep along his leg. Creep up his leg...
"Dave? Dave?"
He didn't care if his friend teased him about this for the rest of his life. He wanted out of the Garden.
Water splashed on the concrete at his feet. He leapt up, backing away from the fountain.
"Dave!" His cry echoed through the silent trees. “If you’re hiding, it isn’t funny!”
More water splashed over the side of the fountain, soaking his shoes. He tried to wriggle away, but an invisible force clamped his feet in place. Cool water slid over his leg, along his calf, and up his torso. Wet patches appeared on his t-shirt.
What’s going on? Tristan tried to cry out, but the water slid around his neck, over his throat, squeezing his vocal chords.
Help, help! What’s happening? I’m drowning ... Dave, help!
Heart pounding, Tristan tried to back away. The water pulled him back, like strong currents running through miniature streams, threatening to suck him down the plughole.
He stared down at the pool. The surface of the water started to churn and bubble. A shape was forming beneath the surface. He leaned away as far as he could: fat, terrified tears welling up in his eyes as the pressure enveloped him, squeezing tight. The water kept pulling him closer, closer.
As he stared in horror, a woman's face emerged from the pool, followed by a torso. Her long arms held him, wrapping around his leg and chest. The water rushed along his limbs, falling over her translucent body and splashing across her wet, swirling face. Her teeth were black, like fish in the cold stream, and her features were not beautiful, but old and wizened, as if her skin had wrinkled from too long in the water.
"Tristan?" Her voice sounded soft, kind, like the gurgle of a tiny brook.
He’d read enough of the legends, heard enough of Ms. McAllister’s stories, to know he was staring into the eyes of a faerie. A real, living faerie made of water.
They do exist. They are real.
He was scared, yes, but also strangely relieved. Now that he could see her, now that he knew that a faerie really existed in the Garden, he didn’t have to fear what he couldn’t see anymore. She didn’t seem so terrible. In fact, her cool touch against his skin soothed him ...
He tried to shake off that calming feeling, that sense that everything he was seeing and feeling was completely normal. That voice inside his head spoke to him again. You have to stay in control, Tristan. That’s part of their magic. They make you want to trust them.
The grip on this throat loosened, and he choked out, "Wha-what are you?"
"I am Cyhiraeth, a servant to the Marble Queen, Lady of the Seelie Court." The water faerie nodded at the marble statue standing on the plinth beside the fountain. "I dwell here in the Garden."
"Wh-what do you want with me?"
Her ice-blue eyes locked on his. "Your father is alive, but in danger."
The mention of his father made Tristan jump. "How do you-"
"The Unseelie took him, and the others too. They are not happy about the loss of their lands."
Tristan’s blood turned cold. The Unseelie were the malevolent host from his father's books; they spread across the ancient lands and attacked humans in the night, capturing lone travellers and forcing them to perform horrible crimes. They tortured their human captives by cutting their faces, burning their hands, and forcing them to attack their loved ones. The thought of his father being captured by them ... it was too much ...
If the Unseelie have Dad, the police can’t help him. I have to rescue him.
Tristan addressed Cyhiraeth. "How do I find my Dad?"
"We can help you find your father, but first, you must help us. If the Unseelie break the spell on the brugh, no human or fey in this town will be safe. You have to drink the water."
"But-"
"You have the Sight, Tristan. You have a special gift. Your father has it also. And now he’s in danger. If you want to help him, you must drink the water. When you drink, all will be revealed." She cupped her hands.
The Seelie are bound by their code to repay any debt. He'd read that in his father's book. But that was just words on a page; this was a real, living faerie, and Tristan didn't know if he could trust her.
Suddenly, Tristan felt his throat itch. He coughed, but the itch remained. He was desperate for a drink, just a sip of something to take the tickle away. He coughed again, but the itch only grew stronger.
Tristan leaned forward; the water smelt so cool and fresh.
"It's very warm today, Tristan. You should have a drink."
The water sparkled like crystal droplets under the afternoon sun. He bent double, tossing his sketchpad carelessly into the dirt. He scooped up a handful of the water and splashed it into his mouth.
He swallowed. Suddenly, his throat burned with thirst. He hadn’t realised how desperately he needed a drink. He bent down and gulped back another handful.
"More!" Cyhiraeth cried.
Tristan lapped at the pool like a puppy, his hair falling in sodden tendrils over his forehead. He drank till his lips puffed and his breath came out in ragged gasps, but still he couldn't quench that itch.
"Enough." Cyhiraeth's head disappeared beneath the surface. The waters rushed and closed over her, and all was still. He froze, staring at the spot where she'd crouched, pushing his arms down into the pool, trying to feel her. But there was nothing.
As quickly as it had begun, the itch in his throat died away. His stomach swirled and gurgled in protest to all the water inside it.
Where did she go? What do I do now?
Tristan leaned back against the stone wall of the fountain, and looked up in to the trees.
Straight into the beady, green-grey eyes of a faerie.
Tristan jumped. The faerie twittered and flew off, dappled wings catching beams of sunlight. It was the kind of faerie you saw in story books, a little human girl with wings like a dragonfly that whirled around her body. As she moved, she left behind her a trail of brilliant light. Tristan turned to pick up his sketchpad, thinking to draw a picture for Alice, but the pad leapt away from him.
He grasped for it, but it jumped away again. He pounced, and managed to grip it and haul it off the ground. Clinging to the spiral binding were two sprites, so small and willowy they faded into translucency, each one wreathed in that same enchanting light. Folletti, Ms. McAllister would've called them. If she'd seen them, which she couldn't, because faeries didn't exist and he was imagining things. Wasn’t he?
I can see them, and touch them? They can touch me, and my things. They must be real. But what do they want with me, and why can I see them now when I never could before? Cyhiraeth said I had the Sight - is this what she meant?
He rubbed his eyes, closing and opening them again. The folletti were still there, shaking their tiny fists and yelling at him in waifish voices he couldn't hear.
"Tristan, buddy, where were you?"
Tristan whirled around, his heart pounding against his chest. Dave appeared on the path. Two faeries tangled themselves in his hair, giggling as they tickled his nose with a blade of grass. He sneezed and rubbed the itch.
"Uh-" Tristan pointed t
o the faeries. Dave’s gaze followed his finger. He shrugged, and flicked a stray leaf off his shoulder.
"Stupid leaves. C'mon, I'm starving. My sister has mac and cheese waiting for us."
"Uh-"
Dave stepped forward. A shaggy man with wrinkled brown skin about the height of Tristan's school ruler stepped between Dave's sneakers and began furiously plucking hairs from his bare legs.
"Ow! Let’s get out of here. I’m getting bitten by insects. C'mon Tristan!" Dave slapped at his legs. He picked up something from the ground. "Look, what an idiot. You've got your sketchbook all wet. Let's go home; you gotta try Zombie Apocalypse Slaughterhouse. It’s awesome-"
Tristan trailed after him, not hearing a word his friend said. He could see the fey everywhere now, nestled in the branches of the trees, darting across the park, peeking out from behind the rose bushes. Faeries. I see faeries...and some of them have my father.
As the boys passed through the gate, the faeries released Dave’s hair and scampered back into the trees. Tristan jogged after Dave, his eyes focusing on his shoes, hoping in vain that he'd imagined the whole thing.
***
“Tell me about the faeries."
"Twisty, get out of my room!" Alice threw down her doll and prepared to slam the door.
"No, Alice..." He jammed his foot in the door, changing his tone to pleading. "It's important. Tell me about the faeries."
Alice opened the door. "You're standing on one right now."
He looked down, and sure enough, another of the gnarled faeries pushed in vain at his sneaker, its face red and strained as it tried to squeeze itself out from beneath Tristan’s weight. Its body however, was not made of flesh like the fey he’d seen in the Gardens, but moulded from twists of Styrofoam; the broken edges of takeaway Chinese containers.
"How did he get out of the Gardens?" Tristan knew the legend – the fey were bound to the brugh with a spell. They're not supposed to be able to leave.
"That's Foam.” Alice bent down and patted him on the head. “I took him home one day, but he seems sick all the time.”
“How long have you seen them?”
She shrugged. “I’ve always seen them. I thought everyone did, but you and Mom always laughed at me, so I stopped talking about them. I don't see them all, just the bigger ones, and even then they're faint, like they are made of fog. Some are pretty, like the flowers in the park. They're green with butterfly wings and hair like moss. But some are really scary, like the hairy one that..." her eyes darted to the washing pile in the corner of her room.
"Alice?"
Her face grew distressed. He leaned over so she could whisper in her ear.
"Ever since Daddy disappeared, I've seen one in that corner at night- a shadow with big, spiky hair and orange eyes. Yucky eyes." She shuddered.
“The one in your dream?”
“I never said it was in a dream.”
Tristan sat down on her bed, watching the little faerie hop around on the floor, one of its styrofoam legs now bent at an odd angle. It saw him staring and began to hop up on down, pointing a tiny finger at him and squeaking angrily.
“That’s why you’ve been sleeping in my bed?” Tristan said. “You see faeries.”
She nodded, her eyes wet with tears. “I miss Daddy.” She whispered.
He whispered back. "I think some of the faeries may have taken him away.”
She shook her head. “Not Foam. He’s a good faerie. He says some of the faeries are bad, though.”
“They are really bad. We’ve got to rescue Dad, before they do something awful to him. I need you to come with me tonight."
"We'll get in trouble."
"Not if you don't tell."
***
"Quiet!" Tristan hissed as Alice struggled through the hedge.
"But it's caught me!"
Sighing, he freed her jumper from the thorn, and they moved along the street, ducking low, keeping to the shadows. Her fey friend, Foam, scuttled along the ground behind them.
The other houses were quiet; a few lights on here and there, but Tristan heard no voices save the night birds and the territorial wars of neighbourhood cats.
Along the stretch of highway that pressed against the boundary of the Garden, the streets were strangely bare, as if some ghost sweeper had tidied in the night. But as Tristan squinted in the gloom, he saw the familiar glint of beer cans and other litter under the shrubs and jammed between the iron grates.
Alice grabbed his hand, whimpering as she pushed herself behind him. Foam scrambled up her leg and clung to the back of her shirt.
“What’s wrong?” He tugged her forward, but she wouldn’t move. “Alice? We have to-”
"He's up there." She covered her face with her sleeve. Tristan squinted at the awning above the butcher's shop, and sure enough, a black shadow stretched across the corner. Two hind legs with curled toes and a coating of bristle-like hairs hung over the edge. Further back, in the darkness, a pair of glowing orange eyes, their irises slanted like a cat’s, watched him.
He didn't need his father's book to tell him that faerie belonged to the Unseelie court.
His heart pounding with fear, Tristan kept his eyes glued on the creature. He placed his hands on Alice’s shoulders and guided her gently down the street, not crossing the road until they were well past the butcher’s shop. She let out a great sob.
Tristan didn’t want to let the shadow faerie from his sight, so he backed down the street, pulling the sobbing Alice behind him. He darted a glance behind him, saw the gates of the Garden only a few feet away, and backed up even faster.
"Alice, in here." Tristan pulled her inside the gates, and instantly felt a rush of relief. He wondered if Cyhiraeth had cast some sort of spell to let them know they were safe inside the walls of the Garden. Alice let go of him. She too, seemed instantly happier, the tears in her eyes already dried. Foam crawled back down her leg, raised his bent arm as if in salute, and disappeared underneath one of the bushes.
Weird.
Tristan felt that breeze on his arms again, the cold rush of air that bit every time he passed within the Garden. At night the place seemed even eerier, like some forgotten realm outside the real world. The trees rustled with life, faeries wriggled on the branches and tugged at the flower beds, trailing that ethereal white light behind them as they moved. The whole garden was crowded with them, practically bursting as they fluttered near the edges, never touching or crossing that barrier.
Something sharp pinched his ankle. He looked down and saw a strange faerie crawling over his foot. It looked almost like a scorpion, and it waved one of its sharp pincers in the air at Tristan, as if he'd pissed it off somehow. On its back were scales made from the tabs of soda cans. Wincing, he kicked it away. It scuttled into the bushes at the edge of the Garden, and disappeared.
“Don’t be mean. That’s one of Foam’s friends.” Alice scolded him. “What do we do now, Twisty?”
“We need to speak to Cyhiraeth.” He rubbed the goosebumps on his arms. "She told me the bad faeries have Dad. I'm hoping she'll be able to tell me how I can get him back." He took Alice’s hand and they walked deeper into the garden, all around them the trees buzzing and whirring with fey.
They reached the pool under the fountain. "Drink," Tristan sank onto the bench, trying to ignore the jittering fey leaping around them.
"It has leaves in it." Alice screwed up her face.
"It's safe. Drink."
She splashed water into her mouth. All around them, the clamour of the faeries grew louder, more urgent. "Now what?"
"Can't you see them-"
She moaned softly. Now she saw them, too. All of them.
The branches rattled like deaths-knell. The grasses caressed their ankles. Slowly the fey emerged, like great green swarms they descended from their leafy nests, dropping on the grasses with tiny feet that tapered into nothingness. They were myriads of sizes and shapes: some dark and bulbous, some gnarled and frightful, some petite wi
th dainty hands and mischievous smiles. A swarm of the translucent creatures that had held Tristan's sketchbook flittered above the crowd, their tiny bodies reflecting moonlight, bathing the group in a golden sheen. Cyhiraeth peeked over the surface of the water, her black teeth glinting under the moonlight.
Every one of the faeries trailed a white tail of light across the moonlight sky.
"Twis-"Alice grabbed his hand.
"I know. It’s okay. I think they are friends."
"No, Look!" She tugged and pointed at the statue of the Faerie Queen. He whirled aground as something shattered against the gobbles. It was a piece of marble. Tristan's stomach clenched as he saw a crack appear through the statue. The marble split, crackling as the stone broke away and smashed against the ground. Some of the pieces fell into the pool with a plop. Ripples appeared on the surface, larger than the shards, higher, like a tiny tsunami coming to sweep the faeries away.
Tristan watched as two arms, long and pale, wrapped around the crumbling statue from the inside, and pulled.
A figure tumbled from the remnants and flailed, twisting towards them as she fell into the fountain. Water cascaded over the edges and splashed Alice's pyjama legs. She whimpered and hid behind Tristan’s leg. The faeries twittered, as if giggling, but they did step back.
The figure - a woman, petite and lithe – pulled herself out of the pool and fell over the edge. She writhed on the concrete, long fingers curling and uncurling as if she sought to hold something. She rolled over and coughed marble dust.
"Water..." She croaked.
Two bulbous shapes lurched from the ranks and drew water from the fountain, warping their slimy bodies into concave scoops that waddled over to the hunched woman, splashing water everywhere. The woman bent over and lapped hungrily – her movements more feline than human – and splashed her dusty face and body.
When she was sated, she rose. Her limbs bent in awkward jerks, as if she'd forgotten the use of them. Her skin shimmered with a silver pallor, a fine grey dust. Her eyes glowed blue and her corn-coloured hair hung in limp tendrils that curled about her shoulders of their own accord. A pale light shimmered over her skin, casting her entire body in an ethereal glow. Her eyes rested on Tristan and Alice.