There were so many of them that the night was shattered by their light, and they lit the way up the path.
Callie looked up to where the path led, where the lights were dimmed by a castle that shone like sun trapped in marble.
The blinding white of the castle stung her eyes. She squinted through the sharp rays, her vision focusing on the ivory doors far ahead—and the people marching through the archway.
The wall facing the lake had been carved from the building, leaving a wide opening.
From the opening, Callie could see dancing lights—the colour of ripe oranges—bob over a crowd of moving people.
At first, she’d thought they were people walking into the castle, but as she looked, she realised; they were dancing, slinking around one another in fluid motions.
It pieced together in her mind—the lore, the warnings, the party, the lake, the tree-trunk—all of it. There was no denying it, she knew.
This was the fae realm.
Uneasily, Callie climbed to her feet.
Her boots squelched and water splashed to the shore from her sopping wet clothes. After she rinsed out her clothes as best she could, Callie climbed up the path.
The weight of the water clinging to her body slowed her down; the exhaustion that clutched her muscles dragged her back; and the heaviness of her eyelids pulled them down. But Callie fought the fatigue, and plodded up the pebbles.
The pebbles in the path were like those back in the lake. Each had a name on it, but only some shimmered. Others had gone dark; so dark, that the names were mere scratches in the stones.
Callie suddenly had the sense that there was something off about walking on those names, especially the ones that had gone dark.
It sent chills through her, and she vaguely thought of walking over gravestones.
Then, one stone caught her eyes. It winked at her through the glow of the fireflies, and pulled her closer.
When she read the inscription, her heart jolted up to her throat.
‘Meghan O’Sullivan.’
Callie dropped to her knees and tried to yank the pebble from the path. It wouldn’t budge. But she gripped onto it and pulled again. Again and again, she tried, only stopping when her fingernail snapped off at the nail-bedding.
Callie winced and shoved her bleeding finger into her mouth. Her skin prickled and she shivered into herself.
“You probably shouldn’t do that again. You’re lucky your finger didn’t come off.”
Callie scrambled backwards, shifting onto her bum. Her eyes, wide and horrified, stared at what had spoken. She blinked, as if when she opened her eyes again it would be gone. But it was still there, and grinned all crooked teeth and tilted its head.
Callie was eye-level with a white wolf.
Its pointed teeth were a glossy yellow, and its amber eyes matched the glow of the fireflies in the jars around her.
Callie’s cry came out in a strangled whisper. Her limbs ached to move, to crawl away from this talking beast, but something had glued her to the spot—the same something that pumped her heart wildly in her chest and surged shivers up and down her body.
“My, my,” it crooned. “You’re a frightened little thing, aren’t you?”
Its paw, the size of her own hand, stretched like a cat’s would and it shivered. The white, coarse hair coating its body bristled as it took one, determined step toward her.
“Why are you wet?” asked the wolf. “Did you come from the lake?”
Callie flattened her hands on the path and slowly pushed herself up. Her legs wobbled beneath her. As she rose, the wolf seemed to grow taller and taller and taller—until it was the same height as she, and looking right into her eyes.
“Oh, my,” said the wolf regrettably. “A mute-human. You won’t fare too well here, I’m afraid.” It cocked its head, as if thinking for a moment. “On second thought, it might save you.”
Callie stepped back. The soaked soles of her boots squished against the path. “I—I um…”
No words came out. There were none in her mind to travel to her lips.
What did one say to a talking wolf?
“Not a mute after all I see,” said the wolf. It raised its paw, like Callie’s old dog used to do when it wanted a treat. “A pleasure to meet you Callie.”
Callie blinked.
Slowly, she reached out her hand for the paw. Her fingers shook as she touched it, then yanked back as if she’d been bitten.
“How did you know my name?” asked Callie, her voice shaking more than her body.
The wolf laughed—or at least Callie thought it was a laugh. A deep rumble trembled through its body and its mouth parted into a grin.
“It’s on the pebble right in front of you,” it said. “And why is it you asked how I know your name, when I would be shocked to learn that you have heard a wolf talk before? Unless you have met some of my descendants, the wolves from the fae realm who walk in your world.”
Callie swallowed, her brows knitted together. “Werewolves, you mean? They—they’re real?”
“Humans,” it said, shaking its head. “They rarely ask the right questions.”
Callie looked down at the pebbles. It hadn’t been there before, when she’d tried to dig out Meghan’s pebble from the path, but it was there now. Her own name, glowing gold, right beside Meghan’s.
Callie touched her gaze back to the wolf’s amber eyes. “What’s the right question?”
“I will give you the answer to the question you should ask. But first, you must do something for me.”
“And what’s that?”
The wolf slinked closer. Its muscles moved behind its fur, slow and steady. It only stopped when its hot breath gusted into Callie’s face.
Callie tensed and held her breath.
“You must scratch underneath my chin.”
She frowned. “You want me … to scratch you?”
“Please,” it said, though its voice was a low growl. “I have been trying to reach that itch for days. No matter what I do, it doesn’t go away.”
Callie wanted to ask why it couldn’t use its back paws to do it. Dogs could scratch themselves, so why couldn’t wolves? But she didn’t think it best to question an animal that could tear her apart in seconds.
“Just here?” asked Callie, and she reached forward with a pale hand that almost jittered in the breeze.
Her wrist suddenly felt exposed as her fingers touched the fur—it was grimy, she thought. Grimy and matted with dirt.
Still, she curled her fingers and scratched.
Callie flinched—the wolf had growled, low and deep like a motorcycle roaring to life. Her fingernails raked over the skin buried beneath the fur, and she watched the wolf’s eyes fluttered.
The scratch went on for a while.
Callie’s wrist began to ache, but the sting quickly melted in with the pain that plagued her whole body. Then, the wolf pulled away and shook itself. A few twigs and leaves flew from its fur.
“Thank you.” There was a touch of sincerity in its rough voice. “Now, your answer.”
“I haven’t picked a question yet.”
“I will ask it for you,” it said. “The answer to the right question is this—to survive your time here you must do four things. Move with the shadows, be as pretty as a toad, don’t feed your gluttony, and don’t sway with the songs.”
“But how … how do I leave here?” asked Callie. “I need to find my friend and go home.”
The wolf turned its back on her and trotted up the path.
Before Callie could chase after it, the wolf leapt off the path and bounded into the fringe of trees—crooked trees.
Though, these ones were unlike the trees where she’d come from.
These trees really did whisper; she could hear them, like the rustles of branches swirling with static.
Callie didn’t think the trees were such a good idea. She faced the tip of the path again, and took in the white castle. Closer up, it didn’t sting her eyes
as much. And closer up, she saw that there was nothing right about that castle.
It stood on a grassy hill, encircled by lush greens and pink flowers. The flowers climbed up the white-stone turrets to their jagged roofs. The roofs pointed up and dropped down, like stone crowns.
Shadowed figures moved above the castle. They were cloaked and crept behind the crowned barriers, keeping watch. From the blades of grass on the hill to the cloaked shadows stretched stained windows that shone bright colours onto the grounds.
Callie squinted her eyes and studied the painted glass.
Some reminded her of churches, where the images showed angels descending from heaven to touch their hand upon a human’s head—but they were different.
At the edges were malevolent-looking creatures, the size of a toothbrush, carrying bloodied knives as they snuck up on the humans.
Callie shuddered and wrenched her gaze from the tower. She dragged her legs forward, forcing them to carry her up the path—
Towards the fair folk.
4
Twilight had darkened into sheet black night when Callie reached the castle grounds.
The pebbles vanished beneath her feet as she stepped onto the lush grass and glanced around. Without the distance between them, she could see the inside of the castle better.
The hall stretched far and wide—its height went from the floor to the crowned roof. Balconies hung from the walls, stuck between ribbed pillars, looking down on the floor where folk danced and served trays of treats.
Alcoves were tucked away underneath the balconies, covered by drapes—some sheer, some thick and velveted—and an altar loomed at the farthest wall, with a view of the entire hall.
On the altar, Callie could see two levels. The lowest level held six thrones with high backs and thorny vines coiled around them. Three of the thrones had a single dagger stuck in their arms.
But on the second level of the altar, overlooking everything, was a throne larger and grander than the rest—a vacant throne made of pure gold.
Callie wracked her brain for a way in without one of those strange beings seeing her.
But how could she manage to hide from the fae while searching for Meghan?
The hall was monstrous. It was grand, but the hall she faced was larger than the entire main street back at the village. It was too much space to search without going noticed.
Callie slinked closer to the open wall, and hid in the shadow of a tree. As she poked her head around the thick trunk, she watched the dancers in the hall.
Some were human, she noticed, and wore clothes like hers—jeans, jumpers, t-shirts. But the other beings, the fae, wore robes and cloaks and armours, and dresses that seemed to be made from the finest silks. On their feet were either thin leather slippers, golden sandals that criss-crossed up legs, or boots that reached their shins.
Callie bowed her head and raked her gaze over her own clothes. In those she would be noticed by the fae. Then, her gaze lifted and touched to a set of billowing sheer curtains that flapped around the wall.
Move like a shadow.
Callie sank to the grass and crawled to the curtains at the nearest alcove. In the hall, only the fae laughed. The humans danced or sat motionless on stools, but the fae jumped, twirled and giggled sounds that reminded Callie of windchimes.
Callie slid, slowly, behind the billowing curtain. She swung her backpack from her shoulder and glanced around at the hidden alcove.
There was a plush line of cushions that curved around pillars in a half-moon shape, and at her feet was a silver platter of fruits and meats.
Her stomach grumbled.
She hadn’t realised how hungry she was until she saw the platter. Meghan was her priority, but at the sight of the food glinting up at her hungry eyes a strong trail of bile crept up her throat.
As she reached down to pick a slice of honeyed ham from the platter, a voice sang in her mind; ‘Don’t feed your gluttony.’
Callie remembered the wolf’s words of warning and pieces of the old tales her grandparents used to tell her. Eating in the fae realm would trap her there forever.
She pulled her arm back. With a lingering look at the platter, she sighed and crouched down beside her backpack. The zip opened with a hiss.
Callie hoped no one had heard it from the other side of the drapes. The melodies that sang from flutes seemed too loud for much else to be heard in the castle.
When she’d left the tavern, she’d known her hike would be long and dreary. To prepare, she’d packed some snacks into her backpack and two bottles of water. She’d guzzled down one of the bottles already during her hike.
She pulled out the other one and popped the suction lid. Callie drank half the bottle. Her thirst craved all of the water, but she needed to save some for when she and Meghan got out of there.
Callie stuffed the bottle back into her bag before she peeled off her damp clothes. They landed on the floor with slaps. When she was only in her underwear, she pulled out a spare jumper from her bag and a pair of leggings.
They had been meant for Meghan, but Callie needed them. Her complexion had dyed itself blue and goose-pimples seemed to permanently pebble her skin.
Her hand rummaged in her bag for a moment before it touched what she was searching for. Callie yanked out the weapon—a Swiss Army knife. With a flick to the small button, the blade popped out and Callie got to her feet.
The lacy sheer curtain curled in the breeze; she snatched it and rammed the knife into the lace. Callie cut off a large chunk of the curtain before she dropped back to the cold floor. Her leggings and jumper would keep her warm, but it wouldn’t disguise her.
Together, the sheer material and her stained-blue hair might help her blend in with the fae.
Before she wrapped the fabric around herself in a lumpy make-shift dress, she stuffed herself with a packet of salted crackers and a chocolate bar.
Callie had thought that after she’d taken a break to hydrate, eat and get into dry clothes her body may regain some of its strength. But when she stood up, her legs shuddered and cramped.
Biting back winces, Callie tucked her bag between the drapes and the wall. Hidden, for when she and Meghan were ready to leave.
Callie stood behind the drapes for a moment. The sound of her heartbeat pounded against her ears, louder than the songs of the hall, and her hand shook as it lifted to part the curtains.
Her lips parted and sucked in a deep breath. Then, she exhaled with a whoosh and peeled back the drapes. They fluttered shut behind her.
And it was suddenly too late to turn back.
Callie stood in the heart of lion’s den, hoping to go unseen.
Hugging the lace to her chest, Callie slipped around the pillars and kept her head low.
If one looked close enough, they would see the shadows of her human clothes through the sheer. But none of the fair folk seemed to pay her any mind.
Callie wandered aimlessly down the wall. It took all of her strength not to pace back and forth and chew her fingernails down to the beddings.
At the thought, her finger burned—she’d lost one back at the pebbled path, trying to take Meghan’s pebble. Callie beat back the pain and focused on her movements. She needed to move how they moved.
All around her were the fair folk.
To her right, they mingled with the humans on a platform meant for dancing. Even from afar, Callie could see the difference.
The humans moved rigidly, as if in pain, but the fair folk swayed like graceful swans in their mating dance. They were magical to watch. But when Callie squinted and looked a bit closer, they weren’t as beautiful as she’d thought.
A fae, draped in tattered green cloth, lifted her yellowed arms above her head and bent her body to the side. Her hip moved and moved and moved; until her body seemed to snap in half and Callie realised why her dress was so tattered—her skin had thorns all over it, ripping through the fabric.
Another fae danced near the thorny one. He was tall—ta
ller than the doorway at the tavern—and he moved like a tree. His body was stiff and solid, but his arms frolicked at his sides in graceful waves, and his head swayed from side-to-side.
One flowed through the crowed of dancers, holding a tray above its head. Its bottle-length fingers stretched into skeletal bones that reminded Callie of Cormag, and coiled around the edges of the tray.
As it moved, Callie followed it with its eyes until it reached the fringe of the dancers and emerged from the crowd. Callie could tell, now, that it was male. Its flat, bare chest glittered like crystals, and the further down...
Callie was stunned. She tried not to look, but it was right there. Right where it shouldn’t be on show.
She pulled her gaze away and glanced up at the waiter’s face. But then her heart stopped for a moment.
The naked fae was staring at her.
Callie tugged the fabric closer to herself and turned to the side, away from the waiter. But he still glided toward her, drawn in by her presence.
As she recoiled from the nearing fae, her eyes roamed the hall searching for Meghan. But her gaze passed another pair of eyes that were already on her.
Those eyes were not the waiter’s.
They were the molten gold eyes of a fae across the hall, a fae draped over one of the six thrones, brown-leather armour stuck to his muscles, and a wave of sleek black hair tucked to behind his ear—a sharp contrast to his striking pale face.
The tips of his hair disappeared behind his leather-padded shoulder, but the golden hues of his eyes demanded her attention from across the hall.
And he had it.
He had every ounce of her under his gaze, under his spell. Callie felt the urge to throw herself at his feet, a burning need that seized her entire body.
Before she could act on the urge, the waiter appeared beside her.
Callie flinched as he stuck the tray under her nose. “Some peaches for the pretty human?”
Callie turned her face to the side and met the naked waiter’s gaze. His eyes were solid and round, as if oranges had been shoved into the sockets. There were veils in front of his eyes, a false gloss of patience and kindness.
Feared Fables Box Set: Dark and Twisted Fairy Tale Retellings, (Feared Fables Box Sets Book 1) Page 14