Kelpie Curse: A Feyland Urban Fantasy Tale (The Celtic Fey Book 2)

by Roz Marshall

  Shadowy shapes flitted through the trees to the left of the stream. Then a huge white wolf stepped menacingly from behind a majestic pine tree, a familiar figure astride its back. The blood drained from his face. Cailleach.

  Over the wolf's shoulders lay a woollen mantle—the cloak Elphin had loaned to Corinne and forgotten to retrieve—and by its side walked Cailleach's second wolf, nose to the ground like some unearthly bloodhound.

  Pushing her stringy white hair from her face, Cailleach scanned the clearing, eyes like slits in the wrinkled blue skin of her face.

  With a growl, the second wolf lifted its head and pointed its nose directly at the waterfall, glowing red eyes fixed on the exact spot where Elphin stood behind the curtain of water.

  Elphin held his breath, not daring to move a muscle.

  A full minute passed before Cailleach turned away with a shake of her head.

  I am safe!

  But Elphin had relaxed too soon. One of his feathered friends chose that precise moment to return with a precious cobweb tucked in its beak.

  Cailleach's rheumy blue eyes tracked the yellow bird's movement as it flew across the pool and ducked behind the waterfall into the cave.

  With a cry of triumph, her arm shot out; a long bony finger pointing towards Elphin's hiding place. "Seize him!" she instructed, and the wolf went bounding around the pool towards the cave, massive jaws slavering in anticipation.

  CHAPTER 10

  CORINNE GLANCED AT her watch. Five to nine.

  Mother had dropped her off at seven, on her way to reset some experiments at the University, promising to meet Corinne at the show in time to watch her daughter's class. Her experiments were at a critical stage, she'd said. She'd certainly been too busy to take Corinne to the sim café yesterday afternoon. Hopefully I'll get there today after the show, and find out what my dreams mean.

  In the meantime, Ghost was ready; shampooed and buffed so he shone like a block of ice, saddle gleaming and bridle sparkling. She was ready; hair tied neatly back under her velvet-covered hat and her showing gear kept clean under some old tracksuit bottoms and a hoodie.

  But where was Miss Irving?

  Putting her grooming brush back into her kit box, she gave Ghost a pat on the nose and went in search of the farmer.

  There was no sign of Phemie in the main courtyard of the farm—but it was a hive of activity. Sonya, Mandy and a few of the other girls were also preparing their horses for the show. They were so busy grooming and cleaning that they didn't notice Corinne as she flitted across the cobbles and down the path beside the farmhouse towards the front paddock.

  The flock of Jacobs were still grazing contentedly in their field. Frowning, she walked to the house and rang the doorbell. There was no reply.

  A tingle of alarm fluttered through her chest. Has she left without me? No, that couldn't be right—the sheep were still there. Perhaps something had happened to the old lady?

  Heart in her mouth, Corinne tried the front door. Open. Do farmers ever lock their houses? She stuck her head round the door and shouted, "Hello! Miss Irving, are you there?"

  There was no reply.

  Closing the door again, she chewed on her thumbnail. What to do?

  Then her ears pricked at a banging sound coming from somewhere behind the house.

  Hurrying round the side, Corinne found an assortment of farm buildings and old sheds dotted around a small concrete yard at the back of the house. Patched together with rusty corrugated iron and baling twine, the doors of the largest shed were sitting open and in the entrance sat a dusty green Land Rover with a pair of twill-covered legs sticking out from underneath it.

  "Miss Irving?" Corinne called as she ran to the shed. "Are you okay?"

  CHAPTER 11

  THE BREATH RASPED in Elphin's throat as he stumbled along beside the massive wolf. His left arm held fast in its huge jaw, it was all he could do to keep his balance and avoid his arm being shredded by the evil creature's fangs.

  Their route through the forest to the Bright King's court meandered through ancient pine trees, and the noise of their passing was deadened by the peaty soil with its covering of browning pine needles.

  Trotting alongside Elphin astride the other white wolf, Cailleach's steely gaze darted towards him. "Faster," she growled. "'Tis almost time."

  "I cannot run any faster if you still wish me to sing," he gasped. "Can I not ride?"

  "No!" Her chin jutted like a scrawny vulture. "Your disobedience requires punishment."

  Elphin swallowed a rejoinder. Arguing with the witch would not help. Back at the pool, he had tried to explain to her that he had been bound by an oath to help the goat-man with his task. But as Urisk was nowhere to be found, Elphin's story could not be verified and it did nothing to sate Cailleach's ire.

  Perhaps I am fortunate this is all she has done. Her malevolent nature could quite easily have thought of something more injurious, he was sure. But she wanted him to sing, so this punishing trek had been her chosen retribution.

  Up ahead of them, magical lights flickered through a gap in the trees. We are close. Perhaps Cailleach would set him free now, so that he could approach the Bright King's court with some dignity?

  Turning his head to speak to the witch, he took his eyes from the path—which was a recipe for misadventure.

  Something—a root, a rock, he was unsure what—caught his toe and sent him sprawling to the ground, wrenching his arm in the wolf's mouth. The thin material of his tunic shredded, and pain shot up through the limb to his shoulder. He cried out in agony as the beast's sharp teeth ripped the unprotected skin, tearing deep gouges into his tender flesh.

  "Halt!" cried Cailleach, gesturing to the wolf to stop. The beast stopped, panting, and dropped Elphin's arm.

  Elphin curled on the ground, cradling his injured arm and blinking back tears. I will not let her see me weep, he told himself, clenching his teeth and trying to control his ragged breathing.

  With a growl, the witch pushed a hand into a leather pouch hanging from her silver belt. Sweeping her arm in an arc above him, sprinkles of fairy dust sparkled through the air, dusting Elphin where he lay.

  Under the influence of Cailleach's powerful magic, Elphin's body jerked and spasmed as bones and sinews rearranged themselves. Leathery brown skin melted away, leaving milk-white flesh with freckled cheeks; coarse brown hair changed into copper-coloured curls, and his eyes turned from fiery orange to clear green.

  Somehow, during the transformation, his arm had healed, and he gazed down at it in wonder, until the witch's sharp voice interrupted him.

  "Come! We are late!" She tossed him his cape and pointed at the second wolf. "Ride!"

  -::-

  Elphin cleared his throat as he stepped onto the wizened tree stump in the centre of the Bright Court. He wracked his brains. What shall I sing today? He had already sung so many of the songs he remembered from his youth, and whilst the King seemed to enjoy his singing, Cailleach was never satisfied. "Tomorrow, another", she'd always say, her eyes burning holes in his soul.

  Burning… Burns. He could sing a Robert Burns song.

  In a corner of the clearing, the Bright King sat on his golden throne atop a grass-covered mound, a circlet of filigreed gold crowning his platinum-blond hair.

  Two redheaded leprechauns stood in front of the throne, caps in hands, asking for the King to adjudicate on a dispute. But the King looked bored. Leaning an elbow on one of the crystal-covered armrests, he balanced his head on an elegant forefinger, eyelids drooping.

  Something to wake him up? Perhaps one of Burns' more lively tunes would work better than a love song. Skimming through the songbook in his head, Elphin settled on a cheerful melody, one that reminded him of Corinne. Yes, that will do.

  As Elphin tuned the strings of his lyre, fey folk of all shapes and sizes stopped what they were doing—laughing, dancing, eating—and drifted towards his temporary stage. Conversations ceased, pearlescent wings furled, and all eyes fixed expect
antly on him.

  He plucked the first notes, tapping his feet to the rhythm of the lyric, and began to sing, "My love she's but a lassie yet…"

  Before he'd sung more than a couple of lines, an ethereal dryad in the front row started to clap along. The beat was picked up by a tall elf and then a tiny gnome. Before long, most of the creatures in the Bright Court were swaying, tapping or clapping in time with his song. Even the bright pixies floating through the air above seemed to lilt and weave to the cadence that he set.

  When he reached the last verse, out of the corner of his eye he saw Cailleach hovering around the Bright King's throne. Again. She was always there when Elphin was singing. Could it be that she was seeking some favour from the King? Maybe that is why she is never happy with my songs. Perhaps they are not good enough to win the King's approval. His heart sank at the thought. But, if he could lift Cailleach's mood, his whole life would become much easier. I will have to try harder tomorrow.

  -::-

  The trip back to the faerie mountain was more comfortable for Elphin than the trek to the Bright Court.

  Now that they had left the Court, his body had returned to its ensorcelled form. But perchance his song had pleased the Bright King after all, as Cailleach had allowed him to ride on the second wolf, and they had made quick progress through the forest.

  It grew darker the further they went from the Bright Realm, and the uneven footing on the narrow path through the scree-covered lower slopes of Schiehallion slowed the wolves' progress. Elphin risked a glance back at Cailleach.

  Sated from the rich pickings at the Bright King's buffet, she rocked to the gait of the wolf she rode; eyelids closed and cheeks sagging in repose.

  For the space of a foolhardy heartbeat, Elphin contemplated escape: slipping from the animal's back, scrambling through the rocks and running headlong until he reached the safety of the forest.

  But his reckless impulse withered as quickly as it had blossomed when the witch's eyes sprung open.

  As if she'd been able to read his seditious thoughts, she glared balefully at him and flicked a hand in his direction. "Ride ahead and prepare my nightcap!" she barked.

  Shoulders sagging, he faced the path ahead and urged the wolf forward.

  There was no escaping this noxious crone. Caught between her mastery of magic and the tracking prowess of her wolves, his chances of deliverance by his own devices were non-existent.

  It felt like he had lived in the Realm of Faerie for many years. But the passage of time here was as tricky as its residents—a minute could feel like an hour, or a day could pass in the blink of an eye. He could not tell if he had been gone from his old life for days or for decades—but, however long it had been was still too long. I will return.

  Singing with the birds and for the Bright King had kept his musical skills alive, so he should be able to pick up his studies at the Conservatory. But he missed his sister, and he missed the open spaces and rugged beauty of his home.

  I will escape the witch some day, he told himself. I must.

  As Elphin ascended through the snowfields and approached the cave, his thoughts a jumble and his emotions frayed, a vision of Corinne's sweet face and chestnut tresses appeared before him like a ghostly talisman.

  She held the key to his liberation, if only she knew it. But he could not tell her of his curse; could not influence her decisions. She had to complete the quest that would release him from the spell under her own volition, by her own free choice. Only then would he be able to return home to the life he once knew and the world he missed so very badly.

  Lifting a corner of his cloak, he wiped a tear from his eye. Tomorrow. Perhaps he would see her tomorrow. He could only hope.

  CHAPTER 12

  "AYE." PHEMIE'S VOICE was muffled by the underside of the vehicle, but a moment later she shot out from underneath it, lying on her back on a trolley board. Blinking in the sunlight, she sat up. "Land Rover's playing up again." She stood up, dusted off her trousers, then turned her wrist. "Oh my! Is that the time? I'm so sorry, lass, I didn't realise how late it'd got. Are you all ready?"

  Corinne nodded.

  Phemie grimaced. "I don't think she's going to start. She's temperamental at the best of times. I really need to get a new one, but…" She raised a shoulder. "I'm sorry. I won't be able to take you to the show after all. I hope you didn't take too much trouble."

  The girl looked dismayed, and Phemie felt guilty.

  It's my fault for suggesting she go to the show. "Perhaps someone else could give you a lift?"

  Corinne shook her head. "I wouldn't want to ask."

  Phemie could understand that. Sonya might have a big fancy lorry but she didn't have the kindest of hearts. "Aye, maybe you're right."

  Noticing the oil stains on her arms for the first time, Phemie started walking towards the house. "I need to clean up." She'd wasted the entry fees for her Jacobs, but perhaps she could cadge a lift from one of the other farmers and scope out the competition for next year. "Sorry again about your horse."

  -::-

  "That's okay," said Corinne, trying to muster a fake smile for the farmer. But it wasn't really. Disappointment grumbled in her belly. If only she was old enough to drive herself to the show. But, even though it was her birthday soon, she'd have to wait another year until she'd be seventeen and old enough to learn to drive. Until then she was reliant on others.

  Turning back to the main farmyard, Corinne managed once more to sneak through without being noticed by the others. Ghost stood quietly just where she'd left him.

  "I'm sorry, boy. After all that cleaning, we can't go to the show."

  He gazed at her for a moment, then nudged her arm.

  "I know. It's a shame." She rubbed his forehead. "Let's get you out to the field."

  A minute later, she was running the gauntlet through the main farmyard again. But this time she had a sixteen-hand horse with her, and didn't manage to sneak through un-noticed.

  "Corinne!" Mandy pulled a rubber band out of her mouth and waved a metal comb at Corinne. "He's looking good," she said, nodding at Ghost. "Are you going to the show?"

  Corinne stopped, taken aback. Mandy was being nice? "Uh, I was. But Miss—But the car's broken down so I can't go after all. I'm just putting him back out to the field."

  "Oh, that's a shame." The other girl looked genuinely disappointed. A strand of red hair escaped from her pigtail and she pushed it carelessly behind an ear. Then she glanced across at Sonya, who had paused in painting oil on her horse's hooves. "You could come with us, if you want. There's space in the lorry isn't there, Sonya?"

  Sonya straightened up, her features a carefully arranged mask by the time she turned to face them. "Yeah, I suppose there is," she said through her teeth.

  "Don't worry, it's fine, I didn't want to go to the show anyway." Corinne lied. She didn't want to owe any favours to Sonya. Who knew what the yard queen might ask for in return?

  "Oh, don't be silly," Mandy said, pointing at Ghost. "See how nice you've got him. Of course you should go. Shouldn't she, Sonya?"

  A look passed between the two girls, and Sonya shrugged, flicking her long black hair over a shoulder. "Yeah, sure."

  "So that's it decided then." Mandy turned a beaming smile on Corinne. "Go and get your stuff loaded into the lorry and we'll leave as soon as these two are ready."

  -::-

  But 'as soon as these two are ready' turned out to be nearly an hour later. From what Corinne could see, the girls' horses had already been groomed to within an inch of their lives, but Sonya was still fussing over her bay with glossing sprays, cleaning wipes and cover-up powders.

  Mandy, meantime, was making a ham-fisted job of plaiting her chestnut's mane.

  After watching her struggle for a few minutes, Corinne offered to help. "Would you like a hand with that?"

  "Oh, would you? Thanks. I hate plaiting."

  With deft fingers, Corinne used the comb to section off the horse's mane and quickly braided the
coarse brown hair, securing it with rubber bands.

  When she'd finished, Mandy was gushing in her praise. "Oh, you're so good at that! My plaits always look like a bird's nest, with bits sticking out everywhere. How do you do them so tidily?" But she didn't wait for a reply. "I really must get you to do his plaits for every show." She made puppy-dog eyes at Corinne. "Would you do that for me?"

  Feeling cornered, Corinne could only nod in reply. "Uh, sure."

  CHAPTER 13

  CLUTCHING HER COMPETITOR number, Corinne exited the relative calm of the white canvas Secretary's Tent back into the bustle of the show ground.

  Spectators rested legs and chatted lazily behind the white rope fencing that marked the edges of the rings. In contrast, competitors were either rushing, focused, or both—cantering round in circles to tire an over-excited horse; hastily brushing chalk onto an animal's white legs before entering the ring; or hurrying, like Corinne, from one end of the show ground to another.

  On the way, she stopped at the show-jumping ring and quickly scanned the crowd of watchers, but there was no sign of her mother. Corinne's sigh was masked by the compère announcing the next competitor, a blonde girl on a roan pony.

  Normally, Corinne would've walked the course on foot, but the primping and preening of Sonya and Mandy's horses had taken so long that by the time they'd arrived her class had already started. So her only option was to watch the roan negotiate the course, and try to memorise the route.

  At the entrance to the ring was a blackboard with chalk numbers scrawled on it, most of which were already crossed out. "Am I too late to sign in?" she asked the steward, a bespectacled grey-haired lady in a Barbour jacket and paisley-patterned headscarf.

  The steward consulted her clipboard and then the blackboard. "Two more to go after this one. So no." She raised her eyebrows at Corinne, who was still wearing her hoodie and tracksuit. "But you'll need to be quick."