Pay the Piper: A Rock 'n' Roll Fairy Tale

by Jane Yolen

  “What have you done with the children?” Scott asked.

  “What have you done with your adolescence?” Gringras shot back.

  Scott was strangely silent at that and Callie couldn’t think why.

  “Perhaps,” Gringras said, his legs swinging back and forth, “now is the time to tell you the whole story.”

  “A story?” Scott and Callie spoke as one. “Now?”

  “A good reporter always wants the story, does she not?”

  Gringras waved his flute at her as though it were a magic wand and she shied from it. When nothing magical happened, she nodded, and said boldly, “Even if she never gets to tell the story to anyone.” Listen carefully, Callie, she warned herself. All our lives may depend upon it.

  “The story of a prince of the Fey, a prince of the Sidhe, the Fair Folk, the Ever Fair, the People of Peace.”

  “He means faeries,” Alabas said.

  “I mean me.” Gringras’ voice was suddenly low, throbbing, full of pain.

  23 · Story Time

  Gringras began his story by telling her about the little hillside in Faerie, where he’d been chewing on a piece of grass, thinking about billy goats gruff, middle children, and murder.

  “I’m a middle kid, too!” Callie piped up. “I know how you feel.” Maybe we can connect, she thought, though looking at his stony face she didn’t believe it for a minute.

  Well, maybe if I can stretch things out … it will give the police time to come. But in her heart she guessed they wouldn’t find much. Faerie glamour would conceal everything.

  Gringras stopped his narrative and stared at her straight on, as if really seeing her for the first time. “I doubt you have any idea how I feel, reporter,” he said.

  “My name is Callie,” she told him.

  He ignored her and began his tale.

  Callie gasped at the part of the story when the guardian of the century plant entered the clearing. She turned and looked at Alabas in a new light after hearing of his bravery.

  Alabas shrugged and leaned against the white building.

  She cried out in horror at the part of the story where Gringras charged up to the pyre, and breathed a sigh of relief when Tormalas awoke unscathed. She interrupted the narrative whenever she could, punctuating it with sighs and grimaces, with coughs and giggles. But nothing really stopped the flow of his telling.

  Then Gringras told of the blow that killed his brother and the story was over.

  “You killed your own brother?” Callie asked, suddenly thinking of Nicky and thinking of Mars. Even when she felt most in the midden, she couldn’t have done any such thing. Gringras was right about one thing: She had no idea at all how he was feeling.

  Gringras stared down at the dark valley far below. Lost in thought, he gave only one short nod.

  “What did your father say?” Callie whispered.

  “Say?” Gringras barked a laugh. “Only this:

  “‘Hame again ye’ll ne’er be

  Till a mortal kens what faeries see,

  Till a charmed soul stays of its own free will

  And a mortal knows ye and loves ye still.

  But each se’en years by sweat of brow

  Bring silver, gold, or souls enow

  To pay the teind for a brother’s death,

  Or as mortal man draw yer final breath.’”

  Callie recognized the language as the same Alabas had used with the promoter. Was that just last night? “What does that mean in English?”

  Gringras pushed himself off the porch and landed lightly next to where Callie stood. “It means I am cursed.”

  Cursed. Callie tried desperately to remember any stories Granny Kirkpatrick had told about curses and all she could come up with was that there was always some way out of them. The hero always found a back door. A different interpretation. Another way of thinking. A …

  But Gringras interrupted her thoughts by grabbing her by the upper arm. Not painfully, but firmly, so that she couldn’t escape. “Story time is over, mortal maiden. It is time to go. Alabas, gather the others.”

  He waved his free hand in a quick intricate pattern and a crowd of children emerged from the dark, like a picture slowly coming into focus. Their costumes were disheveled, dirty, torn, and they looked scared and tired. But, Callie reminded herself, they’re alive!

  She scanned them intently looking for Nicky. She saw Josee, silent for once, with Alison Velcroed to her side. The Napier kids were holding hands. Little Jodie Ryan sat in her wheelchair, head down. Even the Piatt kids were quiet, sullen, sorry-looking.

  There! Nicky’s wizard hat was gone and his robe was as dirty and torn as the others, but he was okay. Callie had never been gladder to see anyone in her life.

  “Nicky!” she called to him as he stared down at his feet, dejected. “Nicky, I’m right here. Callie’s here. Everything’s going to be all right, Bugbrain.” He didn’t seem to hear her though he was only a few yards away.

  Gringras nodded to Alabas and began pulling Callie around the Summit House toward the cliff face.

  “Wait!” she screamed and tried to wriggle free but Gringras held her fast. She struggled and aimed a kick at him. He ignored her.

  She kicked again.

  And again.

  If her blows were doing any damage to his long, thin legs he didn’t seem to notice. She aimed her fingernails at his eyes but he shifted his head to one side and caught her free hand with his. Closing both her wrists in one of his hands, he dragged her further toward the cliff.

  Suddenly, a bright light flared up and a loud rumble sounded. Scott emerged from the darkness astride his huge motorcycle.

  “Scott!” Callie cried out happily. He must have sneaked out while Gringras was telling the story, she thought. I’m glad one of us was thinking!

  Even in her terror, Callie noted how wonderful he looked. His Viking face was set with fierce determination and he must not have had time to put his helmet on for his long blonde hair flew back like angel wings as he bore down upon them. The bike’s headlight centered on Gringras’ chest, as if targeting him for a blow.

  Callie was just getting ready to spring aside at the last moment, like the heroines in the movies always do, when Alabas leaped, catlike, from his spot near the wall. He caught Scott high on the shoulder, knocking him flying. The bike’s motor died and it skittered, riderless, to a halt, not three feet from Callie.

  After a brief scuffle, Scott and Alabas arose, a small knife in Alabas’ hand an inch from Scott’s eye.

  “I canna let you go, Scottie,” Alabas said. “Not now. Not ever. But never mind. Faerie is a great place for a musician.”

  Callie cried and slumped over, Gringras’ hold on her wrists now the only thing keeping her standing.

  Without comment, Gringras turned and continued toward the cliff, dragging Callie along while behind them marched Alabas and Scott and the long line of gray-faced children in bedraggled Halloween costumes.

  “Where are we going?” Callie asked. But she knew without being told.

  They were going into Faerie.

  They walked up to the cliff, a solid gray rock with bands of some lighter color meandering through it like a petrified river.

  Then they walked into the rock.

  That was impossible, yet it happened. One minute they were outside the rock face, the next inside, as if they’d gone into a cave. But it was no cave. Rather, it was another world with a path and trees, and light.

  At first the light seemed crepuscular, like the light that shines in the sky between sunset and night. The trees were all leafless, with bony fingers pointing up at the ever-gray sky, but there were no piles of leaves around the roots. The path was stony, well-worn, and Gringras and Alabas were careful to keep on it. So Callie was careful, too.

  They walked along for an hour, maybe a bit less. The sky never seemed to get any darker nor the light any less gray. None of the trees wore leaves.

  If this is Faerie, Callie thought miserably,
this gray, uneasy place, they can keep it! But she didn’t let her misery get in the way of thinking about the old stories Granny Kirkpatrick had told. About Faerie, where the People of Peace—the Ever Fair! That was another name. Where they lived forever. Well, at least for a long time. And, she suddenly recalled, in her grandmother’s stories, the People of Peace weren’t the nice guys at all. Not little, pretty winged creatures out of Disney. They were …

  Suddenly, from far away she heard some sort of rushing sound. Water over stone, she thought. Then she smelled something odd, a kind of metallic odor.

  “What’s that?” she whispered.

  No one answered, though at the sound of her voice, the line of children began to whimper.

  Gringras turned around, waved his hand—the one with the ring on it—and the children went silent again.

  On they walked, the stone path flintier now. Harder to walk upon. Great stone banks on either side made the pathway narrower still, forcing them into a single file, so Gringras had to let Callie’s arm go.

  Callie touched the wall of stone for support. It was cold, unyielding. Like Gringras, she thought.

  Then, up ahead, the path suddenly forked into three roads. The one to the right was narrow and seemed set about with briars and thorns. The very look of it made Callie shudder. The middle road was broad and even, it looked easy to walk on. Callie thought of the poor children behind her, way past their bedtimes, scared and exhausted. She hoped Gringras would let them take that road.

  The road off to the left seemed to double back on itself again and again. Switchbacks, they were called in the real world. Callie had no idea what they’d be called in Faerie.

  Checking the sky again, Callie saw it was still that gray not-quite-night color, with no sun and no moon and no stars. She dared a look behind her at the children.

  Hold on, kids, she mouthed at them. She didn’t dare say it aloud.

  With Alabas now in the lead, his knife still at Scott’s throat, they turned onto the left path, the winding one.

  Remember this, Callie told herself. In case she had a chance to escape.

  After three S-curves, the path suddenly opened onto the bank of a river that ran dark gray in the gray light. The metallic smell was stronger than ever, but as they approached the serpentine water, Callie saw the river wasn’t gray at all. It was red.

  Red as blood.

  She gasped and Gringras was at her side. He grabbed her wrist and drew her right down into the flood with him. She twisted, tried to get away, but his hand was like a steel handcuff. Expecting the water to be icy cold, she was surprised when they waded knee deep through it to find it warm and sticky. Only then did she understand the metallic smell of the place. The river wasn’t just red as blood—it was blood!

  Alabas laughed and sang out, “All the blude that’s shed on earth runs through the springs o’ that countrie.” Then he dragged Scott through the river after him and the children followed, even little Jodie Ryan in her wheelchair, being pushed by Josee.

  The thought of all that blood made Callie shudder again, though when they got to the other side, she noticed that none of them was either wet or stained by the red water.

  Odd, she thought. Though no odder than anything else this night.

  “Welcome to Faerie,” Gringras said. Unaccountably, he was suddenly dressed all in green with a mantle of green lined with ermine, and a jeweled cap on his head. His eyes seemed deeper, more intense, gayer. Even, Callie thought, happy. There were smile lines at the corners.

  All around them birds burst into song. The sun, a shining disc of yellow, like a child’s watercolor painting, rose ahead of them. Soft morning light shone across the grassy path, dappling it with gold. Apple trees to their left were in blossom, while on the right the same trees were fully ripe.

  “This makes no sense,” Callie said aloud.

  “It is Faerie,” Gringras told her, before moving away. Then he said over his shoulder, “Earth rules do not apply here.”

  From somewhere straight ahead came the sounds of music and laughter.

  24 · Into Faerie

  Now Gringras stood on the bank of the river and gazed off to where the sounds were coming from. When he looked back at Callie, his eyes were no longer happy and his voice shook when he spoke.

  “I envy you, my little reporter.”

  “Me?” Callie asked incredulously.

  “Yes, you. You get to continue on into Faerie. You will see wonders such as you have never imagined. You will live forever in the land of the Ever Fair, in the Seelie Court, a place of magicks and glamour. But this,” he drew an imaginary line in front of him with his foot, which Callie noticed was now shod in green leather, “this is far as I can go.”

  Alabas finally sheathed his knife and came to stand next to Gringras, staring in the same direction, a similar look of longing on his face.

  “Because of the curse?” Callie asked.

  Gringas nodded. “We wait on the pleasure of my father now. Relax, it may be some time. He takes his pleasures slow.” And to emphasize this, he sat down on the soft grass, still staring over the horizon, as if forcing his eyes to travel where his feet could not. The sun was now high overhead.

  Callie had no wish to relax. She had to think. Think about her grandmother’s stories, think about the curse, think about getting them all out of there. But somehow she couldn’t think what to do. Trying to get Nicky’s attention was as futile as before; none of the children seemed able to see her. They had been unnaturally quiet since Gringras had cast his last spell over them. She thought briefly about making a run for it but she couldn’t leave Nicky behind. Or the others.

  She gave a quiet, bitter little laugh. If I couldn’t escape from Gringras in the real world, what makes me think being in Faerie will make escape any easier?

  She tried to catch Scott’s eye in case he had any ideas, but he was staring at his feet, much like the children. Either he had been enchanted or else he was too depressed by his easy defeat at Alabas’ hands. Callie didn’t know which, but it was clear he’d be no help any more.

  So—we’re hostages, she thought.

  Putting it that way gave her some perspective. Made the unreal somehow more real. But she knew she would have to understand her situation if she hoped to get them out of it, and clearly she couldn’t outfight them or outrun them. So, she’d have to outthink them.

  She put her head in her hands, closed her eyes, and began to piece things together one little bit at a time, as if she were writing the story.

  Why kidnap children?

  To pay the teind.

  Why pay the teind?

  Because of the curse.

  Callie looked over at Gringras who was still staring into the distance. Something came to her in a blinding flash: Break the curse and he has no reason to take the children.

  But that brought up a bigger question. She closed her eyes again. Why hadn’t he broken the curse in however many centuries he’d been walking the earth? Surely he must have tried?

  Only one way to find out, she thought. Ask.

  “How long since you were thrown out of Faerie?” She was surprised at how solid her voice sounded when she felt wispy, unfocused, scared.

  Gringras tore his eyes from the horizon and pinned her with his gaze. “By your count, little reporter, nearly eight centuries.”

  Eight centuries! Surely he was joking. But his face said he was telling the truth. So she took a deep breath. “Do you mean you never tried to break the curse—not even once?”

  “There is no breaking it; it is too powerful.”

  “So you never tried?”

  Gringras shook his head. “Do not be intentionally stupid. Of course I have tried. Repeatedly. For the first one hundred years or so. Tried to find a mortal to love me knowing who I was, what I had done. My attempts were laughable at best, occasionally tragic. But then…” He shrugged and fell silent.

  “Then…?” Callie prompted.

  “Then I just concentrat
ed on doing what I had to do.” His mouth was a thin line, and his eyes distant. He suddenly looked as old as he claimed, like some mummy in a museum. Turning from her, he seemed to be listening to that faraway music.

  “That’s just another way of saying you gave up,” Callie accused. “Stopped trying. Took the easy way out.”

  “Easy way—hah!” Gringras turned back. “I know you think me a bad man. And it is true I have done some wicked things in my time. But I do try to avoid true evil. Still, the more time I spent trying to devise ways to break the curse and its impossible conditions, the less time I spent making money. So the last centuries I concentrated on silver and gold—and succeeded. Because I knew what you now know—what happens when I fall short on silver or gold. What I am then forced to do.” He pointed to the children without looking at them. “You cannot believe I enjoy this.”

  Callie followed his finger and stared at the children. Next to Nicky stood his best friend, Jason Piatt. And the triplets from down the block. Little Jodie Ryan in her wheelchair was crowded next to the Napiers. And what looked like an entire second grade. Further behind them she saw some older kids, like Josee and Alison, only a few in actual costumes. They must have been taking the little ones around to all the houses.

  Suddenly Callie was filled with despair: for them, for herself, for the whole situation. She choked back a sob. “If you don’t enjoy it, then why can’t you just let us go?” she pleaded.

  Gringras responded in a monotone. “Next question.”

  Sniffling, Callie tried to gather herself. Gave up trying. It was too hard. It was impossible … and then she realized. I am doing just what Gringras did. Giving up. And no hero in Granny Kirkpatrick’s stories ever acted that way. She gave herself a shake. Break the curse! That’s what had to be done. If she couldn’t remember how it was done in the stories, she would find a way here, in real life.

  Sitting up, Callie said carefully, “So, besides a mortal loving you, what are these ‘impossible conditions’?”

  Gringras smiled slowly and without warmth, then began to chant: