Tales of the Fairy Anthology

by Catherine Stovall

  “Dion?” A particularly handsome man stood in the doorway. “I followed Miss Dearn, and she made it home safe.”

  “I expected no less, but I am surprised you needed to tell me this?” Dion sat in his ornate carved wooden chair, set throne-like in front of the enormous viewing window, and stretched his long legs out. He indicated the other man should sit.

  “I’m curious? Do we not pay that girl enough? Why does she live in that dump, she’s has no car, no family, the lights were out, and frankly, her clothes make me cringe. Not to mention, the neighbourhood she is in would challenge a few of us to keep her safe.”

  “It is a puzzle Sig. Oddly, I never think of her once she leaves at night, and I rarely think of her when she is here. I wonder why that is? Her clothes, how did you put it, make me cringe too.” Dion leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, folding his thumb and forefingers around his chin and mouth. “I wonder why that is?” he murmured to himself. He stood up abruptly, poured himself a drink and indicated an offer to Sigurd.

  “No thanks, Dion, I have to get back down on the floor. Do we pay her enough?”

  “Plenty and generously. She earns at least ten percent more than her contemporaries, plus bonuses. I have no idea why she chooses to live like that. I have given her clothing, and she returned it to the stores, saying she would buy her own clothes. She ignores requests to change to something more in keeping with the place and seems immune to glamour.”

  “Really? Immune? Wow, that’s rare with her kind.”

  “I know. It really is a puzzle, and I do love enigmas. As to puzzles, why are so many of us here tonight? I would not have credited an enjoyment of human shallow to be a drawcard.”

  As they talked, Miss Dearn slipped from their awareness.

  “Restless, everyone is restless. It is almost midsummer, and we really need to get out of here for a few days.”

  Sigurd was pacing and Dion realised his own body felt tense.

  “Hmm...I should have known it. I forget sometimes in these confines.” Dion’s elegant hand indicated the nightclub in a vague circle. “Have we organised the usual manager for our week?”

  Sigurd nodded.

  “Good, I can’t wait to get out of these constricting clothes.”

  ***

  Cashile Dearn knew she was being followed home. She always knew and she smiled because they thought they were invisible to her—especially Sig. She liked Sig, but he wasn’t hard to fool. She would never say anything. It was enough that they thought to keep her safe from harm and did not question if she needed their protection. Her glamour would only work if they did not grow curious about her, and so far, she had been very careful to avoid excess curiosity from any of them. The look on Dion’s face let her know he found her mildly distasteful, but not enough to really make him question it. He had been pulling that same face for years, if he ever stopped to think about it.

  “All good, can’t let his highness know now can we?” Cashile addressed a photograph of her mother and blew a light kiss toward it.

  The first shoe thumped to the floor, and she groaned in pleasure. The second one quickly followed, with thick rib knit stockings falling in a grotesque heap atop them. Cashile checked all her blinds were down before slipping out of her clothes and gliding sylph naked around her tiny apartment.

  “I can’t wait for midsummer, Umama. I’m all grown up now, and I will see you avenged.”

  ***

  The revellers danced on light feet through the flower strewn clearing. Clouds of colourful butterflies and songbirds flitted between the branches of the trees. The birds added delightful notes to the music winding in and out of the leaves. Wooden flutes, singing harps, drums and pipes let off trills of melody and deep beats that sank through the flesh to the solar plexus and tickled feet into moving. A fey musician made even tuning their instrument a delight to the ear.

  Everyone sang or laughed. Small ones climbed the trees and frolicked amongst the bushes, friends entwined in welcome embrace and the space filled with energy and joyous abandon. Wisps of silk draped over lithe bodies moved languidly in the soft summer breeze. The silk acted merely as a decoration rather than a constricting garment and complemented the shells, and flowers, ribbons and feathers adorned the gathered company.

  Dion arrived with his court, wearing a shimmering cloak of cloth-of-gold that fell in liquid folds, highlighting the muscled tone of his athletic body. The colour complemented his tanned complexion and reflected in the golden flecks of his hazel eyes. He wore a crown of vines and glossy blue feathers in his raven hair.

  The courtiers around him stood out even amongst this gathering of exquisite people, but none were as beautiful as their king. They had all come to swear their oath of fealty.

  The revelry gained momentum as they shucked off the glamours they had to wear to move amongst the mortals each day. Here, they were free to be themselves, recharge and forget how hard, how restricting, it was to blend in amongst humans. Only in small pockets of old forest, like this, could they relax. They could slip away and spend a year Elsewhere if they needed it, coming back refreshed and renewed. Though going Elsewhere was proving more difficult for their people and few could do it any other time of the year.

  Dion allowed a small frown of worry to crease his forehead.

  “Dìonadair, you should not worry on such a fine midsummer. Relax and renew yourself.”

  Dion smiled at the lovely woman and bowed deeply. “Mother, you are as observant as ever.”

  “I observe, my son and liege, that you have still to take a partner for the dance of life. Or are you still pining for that mortal you slummed with?”

  “Slummed? Mother you are slipping into human vernacular. I will know when the right woman presents, I assure you.”

  “Make sure she is one of us. Too much thinning of the blood is blocking our passage from this world. Some of the children cannot do it at all. Their blood is like water.”

  “This is our world; Elsewhere is supposed to be a place of retreat, not our permanent residence Mother. You should not spend so much time there. A good dose of reality and sunshine will take that pastiness from your skin.” He moved away from his mother and her ancient eyes and sought less abrasive company.

  A short man walked backwards in front of Dion’s graceful stride, flapping his hands to emphasise his points. “The residential planning is encroaching on the forest edge, Dìonadair, there is lobbying to force you to sell tracts of the land and—”

  “Eagal, it is midsummer. Leave it alone while we renew ourselves. Go, go and relax, nothing will change this week.” Dion moved away and found himself surrounded by his people voicing their grievances and concerns. He sighed as he found a seat on a moss covered log. His own relaxation would have to wait. His people needed reassurance, and it was their right to have his attention. It was best to clear the air now and be completely free at midsummer.

  ***

  She watched him arrive, surrounded by his bevy of followers. Watched him toss back his length of glossy raven hair and move effortlessly amongst them, the ripples in his cloak a molten gold river flowing from his shoulders.

  “I see why you found him attractive, Umama, but who does he think he is? A king or something? You always did say he was your prince.” Cashile watched from her hiding space in a tree, concealed by her unique glamour. Their eyes slid over her in the same way human eyes failed to see them if the Fey willed it. Cashile had always been able to move through their awareness without leaving a trace.

  She observed Dion dismissing some obviously worried man with a negligent flick of his long fingers. She shook her head, “He is such an arrogant bastard, look at him with his fan club.”

  She relaxed back against the trunk of the tree and thought about midsummer. This was the first time she had been able to come. She had promised Umama she would wait until adulthood and had kept her word. Midsummer was a time for the Seelie Fey to come and renew their energy levels and release the constrictions of their
daily lives. The only safe time to let the magic flow around them. There would be feasting, song, dancing, merriment, and the king was expected to mate to produce an heir, finding someone at the peak of the night to couple with.

  “And that is all I am, a coupling that meant nothing to him and everything to her. If he is the king, then I am his heir, and he doesn’t even know it. This is going to be sweet.” The angry spark in her eyes above snarling lips belied the final word. She closed her eyes and settled down to wait.

  ***

  Music knew no boundaries. It floated through barriers both solid and metaphysical. The music of the Fey bypassed the outer senses and seeped deep into the psyche, attaching to the very electro-chemical impulses at the core of any being. Its touch was ethereal and physical. None who heard the music of the Fey were unchanged by it.

  Cashile had filled her ears with wax, but the sound slid into her pores. The beat moved her heart into synch. Her toes twitched of their own accord. She opened her eyes and realised the day had passed and sunset was easing into twilight.

  Wriggling out of her clothes in the confined space, she was acutely aware of her nakedness. She freed her hair from its strict confines and let it bounce out around her head and shoulders in tight dark waves. Small, wooden clips attached peacock feathers to her hair, and two pieces of peacock blue silk draped over her shoulders. She looped the pieces through two wooden bracelets at her waist, just above her hips. Tucking the ends through her legs from behind and back up to the bracelets, she let the excess material drop loosely down the sides of her legs.

  It looked to her like an elaborate bathing costume fit for a runway, and she was very nervous about being so vulnerable and exposed. The material had cost her a month’s salary, but it was worth it if she brought that man to his knees. Around her throat she clipped a torque her mother had left her. It was gold with thousands of tiny tear drop beads of glass in every colour imaginable. Once attached, it made soft tinkling noises when she moved.

  She wrapped her jeans around her neck to still the sound and climbed out of the tree. She threw the jeans back up to the space and achieved success after the third throw.

  ***

  Dion danced and laughed. Many beautiful women vied for his attention, and he danced with them all. He delighted in the physical of it. He let the music twist and spin him in merry tune and soulful ballad, until he finally collapsed on a soft patch of grass to take some food and drink. The women laughed and found new partners to take up the rhythm.

  “Do you think this year we will find our one, Dion?” Dion looked up at the tall blonde leaning over him. He smiled sadly.

  “No, Sigurd. You may be so fortunate, my brother, but I found mine long ago, and she was taken from me. I want no other.” Dion plucked a petal from a nearby flower and let slip his mask. Pain etched his face with faint lines.

  “Dion, you are supposed to produce an heir, what happens if you don’t?”

  Dion lay back and folded his arms under his head. He smiled and there was no trace of what Sigurd had just seen.

  “You can have my crown, Sig. You would do the job as well as I. Go find the perfect woman and produce the next generation.” He threw the petal at his friend and watched as it fell short. “You would have to deal with my mother, I warn you.”

  Sigurd rolled his eyes and looked toward the dance. His stance became rigid and focussed. “Dion, get up. You have to see this.” Sigurd reached down a hand and pulled Dion to his feet.

  A woman had walked into the clearing. She glowed. There was no other way to describe it. Dancers and musicians stopped to stare as she made her way through a space that magically cleared before her. She had a glowing golden aura and was, without exception, the most beautiful woman they had ever seen.

  She walked straight toward Dion moving with feline grace. The shimmering blue fabric draped around her concealed and revealed in equal portion. In a crowd of exquisite beauty, she was outstanding, exotic and magnificent. She dropped into a deep, elegant curtsey that had no trace of subservience in it.

  Dion observed the top of her glossy dark head, and for the first time in a very long time, found himself speechless.

  Sigurd cleared his throat and offered a hand to help her to her feet.

  “My lady, may I present out liege lord, King Dìonadair, our protector.”

  She raised her eyebrow and smiled, turning her beautiful eyes to Sigurd for one moment.

  He drew his own brow down in puzzlement.

  Dion had regained his sense of control and took the lady’s hand. “Would you care to dance?”

  She inclined her head graciously, and they stepped away as the music sprang out.

  “Now, there is a suitable maiden for the dance of life. It is high time Dìonadair gave us an heir.”

  Sigurd looked at the woman beside him and bowed.

  “Oh, Sigurd, no need for formalities at midsummer. Would you care to dance?”

  “How could I refuse?”

  “How indeed?”

  Sigurd led Dion’s mother into the next beat, and they moved as sinuously as a snake and a mongoose in a death struggle.

  “There is something familiar about that girl, but I cannot put my finger on it.”

  Sigurd tried to steer away from Dion, but his partner had other plans. Inexorably, they moved through the swirling crowd, closer to the magnificent couple at its centre. He too wondered why the beautiful woman seemed familiar.

  ***

  “Who are you?” Dion smiled, he liked the woman he was face-to-face with.

  She scrutinised his face as if she intended to memorise it.

  “I don’t usually have such serious focus from my dance partners.” He tried to win a smile from her with one of his own.

  “My name doesn’t matter really. Just you, this night, and promises unkept.” She played with the beads on the torque around her elegantly slender neck.

  Her voice was rich and lilting as it caressed his ear. Something in the cadence tugged at his memory, but the dance music rolled it away.

  He breathed in the scent of her, and some hint tugged harder at his memories. “Do I know you? Have we met? What promises do you allude to?” He stepped away, holding her at arm’s length and keeping her hands in his.

  For a moment it seemed she would run, a panicked look flitted across her face and then it was gone.“No, not formally.” She lifted her chin in defiance.

  He studied the angle of her cheeks, the line of her jaw, her forehead and eyes. All of them were the face of a stranger, but parts of them were so familiar. If only he could recall.

  “Dion, your lady mother would like us to exchange partners for the next round.” Sigurd bowed his partner across to Dion and held his other out for the strange woman.

  “If you would do me the honour, my lady?” Sigurd bowed over her hand as she slid it into his. He moved her swiftly away from the others. “I believe we have met.”

  “I believe you are mistaken.”

  She smiled at him and he felt himself hit with the full force of a glamour unlike any he had ever known. His defences rose instantly to block what he could, but he knew he was partially ensnared by whatever she had thrown his way.

  “I...I may have been mistaken, but I was sure you seemed familiar.” He moved her through the next steps before they spoke again, and the pressure built in his mind trying to block his vague notion that he knew her.

  “I have one of those faces that tug at the memories.” She smiled

  “I guess that is what it is.” He continued to fight against the pressure in his head, a desperate fluttering of his reality against the intrusion. “Please stop it, my lady. I have done you no harm.”

  Her eyes widened at the pain in his voice and the pressure eased slightly. Something about all of it seemed oddly familiar. “Would you care for a drink or something to eat? I don’t think I am able to take the next dance.” He took her arm in his and led her to the tables of food and drinks. Smaller woodland creatures flitted a
bout, filling platters and cups, handing them to the revellers as they approached the table.

  “How rude, I realise I have not introduced myself. I am Sigurd, close friend and advisor to the King. At your service.”

  “I...um.... Sigurd is a strong name, it means guardian? Is that right?”

  “Yes, in old Norse. I am the guardian of the King.”

  “Then I am flattered you would dance with my humble self.”

  “My lady, any man and many women would be honoured to dance with you.”

  “Sigurd, you are very kind and a wonderful guardian, though perhaps not as vigilant as you think you are.”

  Sigurd swung around toward a commotion amongst the dancers. Dion was lying in his mother’s arms, ice cold and deathly still. Sigurd checked that Dion was still breathing, then lifted his King in his arms before carrying him to a nearby bower. The King’s mother fluttered about in a panic as Sigurd called over some of his people from the nightclub.

  “Take Lady Cian to her sleeping place, and see that she is given some herbals to calm her.” His voice was firm and authoritative and the others moved to obey.

  The music had become sombre. The lights dimmed. Sigurd stood guard while the learned ones came to diagnose this sudden change in their King. Sigurd issued orders for the crowd to continue their party, but the mood had darkened and the dances were as melancholy as the music. The fey stopped eating, and the chatter drifted into lachrymose and maudlin outbursts— quickly stifled.

  “He has been poisoned. It is ancient and deadly and can only be broken by the age old remedy.” The wizened woman looked up and up to Sigurd’s woebegone face. “You will need to guard him until his fate is sealed, one way or another. Lady Cian will have to take over the kingdom until something can be done about this.” The ancient woman shuddered slightly and looked up again. “Sigurd, do you know if Dìonadair loves anyone?”