Faerie Tale

by Nicola Rhodes

  As soon as she broke her gaze, Tamar grabbed Stiles and yelled at Denny. ‘Now, go now!’ and vanished.

  Denny shrugged. He looked at the Faerie Queen.

  ‘They will not get far,’ she said.

  ‘I wouldn’t bet on that,’ Denny told her. ‘You don’t know her like I do,’

  ‘Why did you stay?’ asked the Faerie Queen. ‘I can no longer see your mind, it is like iron.

  ‘I’m ready for you now,’ he said.

  The Queen nodded.

  ‘I have questions,’ said Denny.

  ‘Ask.’

  ‘You are QueenOnagh, the Queen of the Sidhe?’ he began.

  She nodded her assent, seemingly unsurprised at this evidence of her fame.

  ‘The thing about a link between minds,’ said Denny, apparently inconsequentially, ‘is that it works both ways. Especially if the person whose mind you’re trying to read has telepathic abilities of their own.’ He looked slyly at her to see her reaction to this, almost certainly unexpected, development. Her face was carefully blank.

  Satisfied, he continued. ‘It was you in my head wasn’t it?’ he said. ‘Don’t bother … I know,’ he added before she could deny it. ‘So I just have one question for you. What do you want with me?’

  * * *

  ‘Where’s Denny?’ Tamar panicked as they landed in a clearing, which was nowhere near where she had been aiming for, but one problem at a time. ‘He should have been right behind us.’

  ‘Maybe he went the right way,’ groused Stiles from a pile of bracken, which was tearing his trousers as he tried to free himself.

  Tamar glared. ‘It doesn’t work like that. He was following me. Or he should have been. So where is he?’

  ‘When you put it like that,’ Stiles admitted. ‘It doesn’t look good.

  * * *

  Denny was playing a dangerous game here, and he knew it. Keep her off balance long enough to get some answers, and still get away. But without answers, they did not stand a chance. He was not really surprised when he lost the game; he was playing with an empty deck.

  Queen Onagh decided that she would not answer any more questions until she had him where she wanted him.

  Resignedly, Denny had to let himself be captured by the enemy. It was the only way. He just had to make sure it was not too easy for her. As he half-heartedly ran away, he pondered on the last question he had asked her. He really wanted to know what she wanted him for. One thing he was certain of; he was not going to like it.

  ~ Chapter Seven ~

  When she finally found it, Hecaté could hardly believe it. According to Stiles’s notes, all the children were with someone at the time of their transmogrification. Well, she knew that. It tallied with her theory that the parents (or in some cases grandparents or even baby sitters) were the ones who had exposed the changeling, however unwittingly. But it was telling that it was not only parents who were able to do this. She was looking for general behaviour brought on by contact with young children. Something that anybody might do sometimes, but (and this was important) not all the time and not everybody (they had not done it – obviously) and it had to be a recent development, something people did not do long ago, when the Faeries were here before. This ought to have narrowed the possibilities considerably, but she still had no idea what it could be.

  Stiles’s reports were thorough, but people could not be relied on for the details. She had briefly considered the telephone (another piece of modern technology that was utterly mysterious to her) the contact numbers of the parents were on the reports. But how exactly would she put it? – “I think your child may have been kidnapped by Faeries. What was the very last thing you did before your baby turned into a monster and flew away?” – people these days were far too clever to believe in such nonsense. Most of them believed that the government had been conducting genetic experiments. A few talked of aliens. None of them would believe in Faeries. Sometimes it was hard to make people believe the truth. It was usually too unbelievable.

  So she turned back to Denny’s notes. There turned out to be a chant in an old language, so old that even Hecaté could barely read, written as it was, in an ancient alphabet. It was supposed to reveal the changeling to human eyes. After several tries, she managed to sound it out and laughed all the way up the stairs to Cindy’s room.

  * * ,

  Stiles was torn. On the one hand, Tamar was urging him to help her find Denny (who was probably in trouble (having been last seen in the company of the Faerie Queen) and going home to Hecaté who was definitely in trouble (being alone in the house with a known changeling who was also known to be extremely vicious). No one worried about Cindy since she seemed to be the only one that was not in any danger from Jacky.

  In the end, it was decided that they should go after Denny since Tamar said that: A, she wasn’t leaving without him, and B, her teleporting power seemed to be a bit off, and she could not guarantee where they would end up. Oh, and there was no chance of them making it home on foot since they were completely lost.

  ‘If we don’t stop the Sidhe,’ she added. ‘It won’t matter anyway, because no one will be safe.’ This was inarguable.

  Stiles argued anyway (Tamar was rubbing off on him) but Tamar was better at it, and she won in the end.

  ‘So,’ said Stiles suddenly as they trudged through the trees. ‘Was it real or not?’

  This was unexpected and rather difficult.

  Tamar rubbed her nose, a habit picked up from Denny, which meant that he was going to lie but was not happy about it. ‘No,’ she said.

  ‘Ah,’ said Stiles. ‘No I thought not. I mean, we … you and I … I mean us! It’s just not …’

  ‘Exactly!’ said Tamar. ‘You love Hecaté and I love Denny, and we’ve had this conversation before anyway.’

  Stiles was startled. It was true, but he had forgotten it until now. He nodded uncertainly but since he was behind Tamar, she did not see this.

  She ploughed on. ‘I mean, there might have been something there if it wasn’t for the others, but it wouldn’t have been real anyway. So just forget about it.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Stiles. Nevertheless, he continued to watch Tamar’s backside as she walked ahead of him – but that is just men for you.

  * * *

  What do you want with me?’ Denny was painfully aware that he was not in any position to be asking questions. He was chained up in dungeon. The chains and manacles appeared to have been wrought from some kind of bronze and the knife the Faerie Queen was wielding was perhaps made of stone – he was later to make the horrible discovery that the knife had actually been carved from a human femur.

  She gave him a blank smile.

  ‘I know you wanted me here, but I want to know wh…’ Denny began.

  She grasped his head and kissed him slowly.

  It was all Denny could do to prevent himself from gagging.

  ‘I think you know why,’ she told him. ‘But later, when you have been properly … indoctrinated

  ‘Brainwashed you mean?’ said Denny.

  Not at all, you must open your mind, that is all. Perhaps I should have said, “Attuned”. You must learn to understand us. To understand us is to love us.’

  Denny seriously doubted this. He felt he already understood the Sidhe pretty well and love was the furthest thing from his mind.

  ‘I have no intention of being banished again,’ she said suddenly.

  ‘Ah, so you were …’

  ‘I plan to stay this time.’ She overrode him as if he had not spoken. ‘The blood of a witch on the stones to bind us to the land and …’ She looked at Denny with a steely gaze. ‘A human husband to bind me to its people.’

  ‘Husband!’ Denny almost shrieked. Obvious as it might be to you and me where this was going, he honestly had not seen it coming.

  ‘I thought you already had a husband,’ he added hopefully. He was sure he had read about this somewhere. Well, as sure as he could be about anything, circumstances being what
they were.

  ‘Oh … him,’ she said dismissively. And hope died.

  ‘Why me?’ he asked, truly perplexed.

  ‘You have power,’ she said. ‘I sensed it the first time I entered your mind. ‘And I don’t mean this …’ she took the Athame from his belt, ‘this borrowed power. I mean real power – power of the mind.’

  Denny was disconcerted. He had not expected her to take the Athame, or even recognise it for what it was. He brought his mind back to the matter at hand and tried not to think about the sudden loss of his only advantage, or the fact that he was now a prisoner in actual fact rather than merely pretending to be one.

  ‘I don’t. I mean I don’t know what you mean by that,’ he tried.

  ‘You are a natural leader of your people,’ she said, and Denny nearly laughed out loud.

  ‘You disagree?’ she observed. ‘But I know what I saw in your mind. You have saved the world several times. I read it there.’

  ‘I didn’t do it on my own,’

  ‘You are the leader of these people,’ she insisted, ignoring this disclaimer. ‘They just are not aware of it. But where would they be without you? Dead – or worse, and I know about worse believe me. I can see to it that they understand all you have done for them. I can give you everything you ever wanted.’

  ‘You have no idea what I want,’

  ‘We can rule together,’ she continued in what Denny now realised was a rehearsed monologue. ‘All will worship us. These people, these pathetic sheep will be our slaves. It is the least that they owe you.’

  ‘And that was the problem right there,’ thought Denny. “Pathetic sheep”. She had almost had him, he had to admit, until she said that. After all, a little appreciation would not have gone amiss. He had occasionally allowed admission to these thoughts, and she had clearly picked up on it.

  But she had not understood him. He did not want to rule. He did not want to be worshipped. You could not treat people like that. If you did, then you stopped thinking of them as people. Of course, she did not think of them as people in the first place.

  The needle on the record player of Denny’s mind skidded suddenly backwards. ‘What stones?’ he asked.

  Queen Onagh looked sharply at him. ‘What?’ she snapped.

  ‘You said, “the blood of a witch on the stones to bind us to the land …”.’ Then another thought struck him. ‘What witch?’

  The Queen smiled. ‘I shall enjoy being married to you,’ she said. ‘I like a challenge.’ She ruffled his hair. ‘And you’re cute too,’

  Denny shivered. ‘I knew I wasn’t going to like it,’ he thought.

  ‘Yes but what witch?’ he persisted. ‘Too urgent,’ he thought.

  The Queen just laughed and snapped her fingers. Several Faeries appeared, as if from nowhere, with expressions on their beautiful faces that went far beyond ordinary malevolence. They surrounded him and regarded him with glowing eyes. Some of them giggled. They had a pent up excitement in their demeanour. And long sharp knives in their hands.

  “Uh oh,” thought Denny. Maybe being married was not the worst thing that could happen to him after all.

  ‘It is time to begin your re-education,’ she told him. ‘When it is complete then you shall know everything.’

  As she closed the door of the cell behind her, the Faeries swarmed at Denny.

  At the sound of the first shriek, a smile flitted over her face. ‘I do enjoy this part,’ she murmured to herself.

  * * *

  Hecaté blew into Cindy’s room and marched confidently to the terrible tot on the bed. Like Tamar before her, she swept the child up into her arms and held him up to the window in an iron grip. A look of alarm spread over the little features at this unanticipated show of spirit.

  ‘Ahh,’ began Hecaté carefully. ‘Ooh a coochie coochie coo.’

  * * *

  ‘We’re going in circles,’ said Stiles

  ‘How can you tell?’ said Tamar. ‘It all looks the same.’

  ‘That’s how I can tell.’

  ‘Oh, well … you’re probably right. Of course, it would help if we knew where we were supposed to be going.’

  ‘You can’t sense him at all?’

  ‘Nothing, I can’t even sense you, and you’re right next to me. Something’s interfering with my powers.’

  ‘It’s her.’

  ‘I know – she’s set her will against me. It’s like blundering about in a fog.’

  ‘So, where we want to go then, is wherever she doesn’t want us to go, can you tell where that is?’

  Tamar stopped and looked around her with her eyes closed – so to speak. Then she pointed. ‘There!’ she said. ‘That’s where we keep getting turned back.

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Oh yes, it’s like a strong wind blowing in my face now that I know what I’m looking for.’

  ‘North,’ said Stiles looking at his wrist.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Gadget that Hecaté got me for Christmas. Watch with a compass in it. Never thought I’d ever get to use the bloody thing, but it comes in handy now. I’m leading from now on,’ he said firmly. ‘I just keep going north, right? Just follow me.’

  Tamar never wasted time arguing when something self-evidently made sense, and this did. Stiles’s compass would not be subject to the strange forces that were interfering with her senses. He would follow that compass to the end of the world if necessary, and nothing would distract him. He was nothing if not dogged.

  After only half an hour, they stopped because Stiles’s compass suddenly flew out of his hand and stuck to a rock that was rearing straight up out of the ground as if it had been planted there.

  Stiles cursed. ‘Magnetic,’ he said. ‘We haven’t been going north at all. The bloody needle was pointing at these.’

  As they approached, they saw many more of the same type of large rocks arranged in a rough circle.

  ‘What’s a bloody Stonehenge doing in the middle of a wood, anyway?’ said Stiles. ‘What a waste of time.’

  ‘No,’ said Tamar. ‘This is it all right. This is what she didn’t want us to find. I wonder why?

  ‘But what the hell are they?’ she wondered wandering around the nearest one and feeling her jewellery tugging toward it.

  ‘They are the Portal Stones,’

  It needn’t be said that this was not Stiles’s voice.

  Tamar knew without turning round that it was the gypsy king.

  ‘What are they then?’ she said trying to sound casual, although she felt as if she was on the brink of finding out something crucial.

  ‘They guard the portal to the Faerie realm. They’re there to keep them out – or in – however you want to look at it.’

  ‘They failed then, didn’t they?’

  ‘They held her back for a thousand years,’ he said defensively. ‘I never thought she would get back again.’

  There was something about the way he said this that made Stiles’s radar twitch.

  ‘You know her then?’ he said on a hunch.

  Tamar thought this was silly – how could he? But as it turned out, Stiles was right.

  ‘Oh, I know her all right,’ he said. ‘I’ve known her for a thousand years.’

  * * *

  She was beautiful Denny supposed from a certain point of view. But, from another point of view, she was just – nothing. This was, Denny decided, because he was, in fact, seeing two of her at the same time. The real one and the one she wanted him to see. Had he been under her thrall, he would only have seen the beautiful image that she was projecting. As it was, it was confusing and a little nauseating.

  The folk tales had said that the women of the Sidhe were hollow at the back; Denny was beginning to see what they meant. Onagh had no substance, only image. What you see from the front looks real, but from behind, you could see that there was nothing there. And Denny could – to coin a phrase – see right through her. It was hurting his eyes to look at her. His eyes kept straining to see
what his brain was telling him was not there.

  She would come in between torture sessions to gloat over him. She would stroke his bloodied and bruised face gently, almost lovingly, although Denny got the impression that it was the blood and pain she was fond of, rather than himself. She was never there when the torture was going on, although Denny had the idea that she had been watching. ‘She probably has a special gallery,’ he thought wryly.

  Despite the fact that she was well aware that he was not under her control, she seemed to have no idea that he was not seeing her exactly as she wanted to be seen. It might be the reason that, although when she came to him, she was sweetly seductive, (no doubt the point of which was to show him the alternative to the torture he was undergoing – what he would have if he capitulated) she nevertheless seemed to pay scant attention to her attire. It was a supreme self-confidence that even Tamar could not equal. Even Tamar did not act as if she could get away with wearing just anything and still look good – even though she probably could.

  This latest was interesting, Denny thought. She seemed to have picked up on the general idea but …

  ‘You do realise that negligee is on backwards?’ he said.

  * * *

  The King bowed elegantly, disregarding their shocked expressions. ‘Finvarra, High King of the Gypsies, Guardian of the Stones,’ he said. ‘Sorry about that, by the way,’ he added. ‘Can’t think how she got past me.’

  Stiles thought he knew how. Not the details, of course, but the general theory. Guarding something gets dull, especially after a thousand years and especially when you believe in your heart that what you are guarding is safe anyway. The Key Stones guarded the portal and Finvarra had relied on the stones. But he was supposed to guard the stones, and he had not.

  Taking all this under consideration Stiles asked. ‘Could someone open the portal from this side, get past the stones I mean?’

  Finvarra had the grace to look embarrassed. ‘But why would they?’ he said.

  ‘So they could then?’ said Tamar pouncing on his uncertainty.