Dark Confluence

by Rosemary Fryth

  For just a moment, there was silence as everyone stood blinking in the brightness. Then, a sudden and ear-piercing shriek tore apart that silence, as the young mother in front of her discovered that her daughter was missing. Immediately, everyone turned to see what was going on, and there was a sudden surge in low and whispered conversation.

  Sobbing, the young mother cried out, “Where is she? Where is my daughter? Tegan! Tegan! Where are you?”

  As if her frantic words broke a spell, everyone in the post office immediately moved from immobility to startled action, all looking under tables and behind shelves for the missing child. As soon as the post office employees understood what had happened, they alerted security guards and management, and within moments all the doors into and out of the shopping centre were closed and locked.

  Jen sighed and waited, whilst she and the other customers in the post office were questioned as to the location of the missing child. A security guard came up to her and asked if she had seen or noticed anything and Jen could only shake her head. She told him that the child had been misbehaving, threw a tantrum after being chastised, and then the sudden blackout and after that, nothing. The child had gone. The young mother was beside herself and management took her away into a nearby office in an attempt to settle her down. Jen heard sirens and noticed flashing lights out in the carpark - it seemed the police had arrived.

  It took two hours for security and police to comb the complex for the child, and to speak to everyone who was near. They checked and searched every tiny hiding place at least twice, and they even investigated the air-conditioning ducts. The search and perusal of the security camera records revealed nothing, except some illicit drugs and stolen goods, which evidently had been hidden away for later retrieval. Reluctantly, management and police allowed the now tired and annoyed shoppers to leave, who in turn, faced a barrage of media cameras outside in the carpark. Jen, due to her smaller stature, successfully managed to weave her way between the media and the host of other townsfolk outside. The last thing she wanted to do was face an intrusive camera, and the media were like sharks in trying to wrangle the story out of people. Mumbling grateful thanks, she reached her hire car and turned on the ignition to drive home.

  “Wait awhile, my Jenny,” murmured a familiar voice from the back seat.

  Jen spun around to see younger-Fionn sitting there in the semi-darkness.

  “I did not call you!” she exclaimed, her heart beating fast and a blush suffusing her face at seeing him again. “You have broken your promise to me.”

  “Perhaps I did,” he agreed quietly. “However, I came with a warning. That abduction was meant for you.”

  “For me?” Shock drained her pale face even whiter.

  “Aye, the others see you as a threat, as a troublemaker. However you were warded, so you could not be taken against your will,” he explained.

  Jen was confused, “Warded, in what way?”

  He indicated the bag of small bells that she had just put on the passenger seat beside her, along with her paid bills.

  “You carried bells upon you, so no Fae could imprison you or spirit you away.”

  “Yet you’re here,” Jen observed.

  “It causes me pain to be so close, but you are my Jenny and I want to protect you from those who would do you harm.”

  “So why did they take the child?” she asked simply. “Why didn’t they just leave the others be if they couldn’t take me?”

  He shrugged, “They acted within their nature and for the most part their nature is malignant towards humans.”

  Jen took a shuddering breath, “Fionn, you must tell me what I am to do. Do you mean to say that these abductions, these murders, they have been done by your people?”

  “By the Fae, yes, but not by my people,” he hastened to assure her.

  “Then by who?” she questioned.

  He fell silent then sighed. “Have you heard of the two great Courts of the Fae?”

  Jen nodded, “I’ve been doing some reading. I understand there are the Seelie and Unseelie Courts. One comprises order, the other disorder?”

  “Aye,” he said. “You are somewhat correct, although there is more to it than that. I am of the Seelie Court, a humble messenger only, since the great powers deign not to have direct conversation or interaction with humanity.”

  “So the Unseelie Court is behind the abductions?”

  He shook his head again. “We have been assured they have had no hand in it. However, it seems that some rebels from the Unseelie Court have broken away. It seems that they want to establish their own Court to rule over the other two.”

  “So why here, why now, why involve humans?” Jen questioned.

  He shrugged, “I don’t know, I am a messenger only. All I know is that rebels from the Unseelie Court have decided to make this place their battleground, to supplant themselves over all others from our realm.”

  “And the missing children?”

  Fionn sighed, “Held by the rebels. I assume that you have read the legends and stories. The children could be held for weeks, perhaps years, perhaps they may never be returned or Fae substitutes returned instead. The only way the children might be properly returned is for the rebels to be stopped. Our Laws will punish them, but for the moment, we are powerless to move. We must work within the Laws, so humans must be our agents.”

  “What are these Laws?” Jen questioned of Fionn.

  “An agreement made hundreds, perhaps even thousands of years ago by the reckoning of your kind,” he replied quietly. “The Laws keep order in place and control our involvement with humanity. Your people don’t know of these Laws, but we are firmly bound by them. Which is why you see our kind only rarely and really only when we gather in great numbers, or when we are Sighted by humans such as yourself.”

  “Do the rebels have human agents?” Jen asked.

  “It seems so, but it must be remembered they are also at times acting outside the Laws.”

  Jen frowned, “Who are their agents?”

  “I cannot tell, we cannot track their agents nor identify them or seize them,” he said. “We are bound by the old Laws. The rebels, however, care not for Laws. They break our Laws too. Only the old protections can keep you safe from them – salt, herbs, horseshoes and bells, those protections go deeper and are far older than our Laws. You must keep yourself protected at all times, my Jenny, even if it means I can no longer touch you as I so wish to.” He shuddered with desire at her nearness and seeing his pain and feeling her own, Jen wept too.

  “So what can be done?” she asked finally, with effort mastering her distress.

  He looked at her sadly, “Only that you must stop what is being done. Remember what I said, that the rebels work through human agents. It is through their handiwork that you will see the mark of the rebel Fae.”

  Jen despaired, “It could be anything, anyone!”

  “Use your gifts, my Jenny, and remember the old protections will not work against the human agents,” he whispered. Then, within the space of a heartbeat, he was gone, her only tangible memory was the caress of his breath across her cheek.

  *

  Chapter 13

  After the day’s events, Jen found it difficult to get to sleep. Eventually, she dropped off. However, Fionn’s face constantly appeared in her dreams, whispering and singing to her, beckoning her to follow him. Her body bathed in perspiration, Jen tossed and turned as her dreams of him turned from fragmentary recollections of the day, into a heated erotic fantasy. Suddenly, she sat up blindingly awake in almost rigid fear. Her eyes stared out in the darkness, sweat beading on her forehead. She sensed movement somewhere out in the darkness. Pulling the sheets up to her chin, Jen waited as still as a mouse, scarcely breathing, hoping that whatever it was would go away. The night itself had fallen oddly silent. All the usual sounds had faded away, as if whatever walked outside had stilled every living creature into fearful immobility.

  Her ears pricked and she heard a snuffling
sound, as whatever it was moved towards her house and sniffed windows that she had left open. Frantically, Jen wished she had closed and locked them, but the humidity of the night had forced her to keep a couple of windows open to the breeze. She heard harsh scraping on wood, claws perhaps, maybe even teeth. Her own teeth were starting to chatter noisily, so she bit down on her lips to still them. The fear seemed to be all consuming, as if all she had ever known was terror. She stifled a scream in the bedclothes, her body shaking and each hair on the back of her neck standing erect.

  Jen heard a guttural grunt, then slowly the sounds faded as the creature in frustration moved away, and with it, the fear seemed to ebb from her as well. Eventually, Jen heard the return of the normal night noises, cicadas in the garden and the cry of a flying fox somewhere near. Breathing a little more easily, Jen left the bed and checked the bedside clock - the time was twenty past three in the morning. Moving slowly and quietly, she pulled the window shut. Whatever it was had been thwarted this night. However, the next time she might not be so lucky and she walked around the house, checking that nothing was amiss and that what Fionn had called the old protections, were still in place. Lastly, Jen took a fresh nightdress from a chest of drawers and showered away the clammy sweat that had clung to her skin. Emerging from the shower, Jen returned to bed, and despite the horrors of the night, fell immediately and deeply asleep.

  When Jen finally awoke, the world seemed unusually hushed and quiet, so she checked the time. It was a quarter to ten; she had slept in. The light outside seemed veiled, and Jen wondered if the weather had changed and another storm was brewing. Opening the curtains, all Jen could see was a pervasive greyness, a rare early morning fog was still lingering, cloaking everything in its hazy light. Quickly, she changed and breakfasted, all the time utterly aware at how absolute the silence was. Not a bird called, nor could she see movement in the leaves of the nearby trees. It was if the area had been transformed into a ghostly otherworld overnight. Distantly, she heard a truck on the main road, she heard the gears shift noisily and then suddenly the engine spluttered and died, the echoes of the engine swallowed up by the mist.

  Perturbed, Jen opened her bag of bells from yesterday and then taking a silver chain from her jewellery box, attached a single bell to it and then hung it around her neck. It seemed scarce protection, but it would have to do. Jen walked outside and examined the wooden verandah of her house. The wood showed nothing but old scratches and scuffmarks, and Jen wondered if she had all together dreamt last night’s terror. Moving around her house, she examined the wooden frame of her bedroom window. Jen ran her fingers across the paintwork. Yes, new scratches were there and there. Deep gouges made as if someone had run a serrated knife across the wood, tearing it apart in places. Jen’s heart quailed and a sudden nausea roiled in her belly. Backing away from the window, she vowed to keep all her windows secured in future. However, another trip to town was needed, the wood in the frame had been severely damaged in places and she needed some wood glue for a temporary fix otherwise the entire frame might give way.

  With the fog all pervasive, vision was limited so the usually familiar drive into town became nerve wracking. Driving around the forty-kilometre mark, Jen drove slowly down the familiar country roads, the car’s headlights turned on as if were night. Every few minutes, a car barrelled out of the mist, some heedlessly ignoring the conditions and sometimes on the wrong side of the road, which necessitated a sudden swerve by Jen onto the road shoulder. By the time Jen drove into town, her palms were sweaty and her nerves jangled. Turning into a side street Jen located the hardware store and pulled into the parking bay next to the neighbouring yard, a space that was partly full of hire equipment and other machinery.

  Outside the car, the atmosphere was cool and damp, and Jen could smell wood smoke. Clutching her jacket closer about her, Jen walked from the yard into the hardware store and looked around. No one seemed to be present. Going about the shelves Jen quickly found the wood glue she was after and returned to the front counter. Still no one showed and Jen pressed the buzzer. Immediately she heard a shrill ringing at the back of the store. Eventually she heard the sound of footsteps from outside and an older man with short, brown, receding hair stuck his head in the doorway. Catching sight of Jen, he nodded and walked limping slightly to the front counter.

  “Sorry, Miss, I didn’t see you there. I was out the back fixing a generator.”

  “It’s fine,” she assured him, watching as he grabbed an old rag and wiped black grease from his hands.

  “Wood glue eh?” he questioned, looking at her sharply. “Doing some renovations?”

  “Repairs,” she murmured. “Something tore up the wood on my window frames last night.”

  “Ah,” he glanced at the product, as he took her debit card and ran it through the EFTPOS machine. “Well, that will do the trick, mind you let it dry before you sandpaper and paint. It will take several hours to seal.” He glanced at her, as if measuring her response, “Must have been a pretty big possum to tear up wood,” he said levelly.

  “I don’t think it was a possum,” she said simply, looking away in embarrassment.

  The older man nodded, “Been strange things about over the last couple of nights. I’ve heard some weird stories.”

  “Oh?”

  He rested his elbows on the front counter, his expression grave, “Now, I’m not one for spreading tales, but frankly, Miss, if you live alone I’d be locking and barring the door at night. My wife has had the wind up her, something chronic, muttering about God-knows what and hanging bags of herbs everywhere. A man can’t go into a room without the stench of those dried leaves.”

  He leaned over, “She’s part of the CLS, and all her friends have suddenly gone batty with herbs. Frankly, I don’t know what to make of it, but Doris says it’s important so, I go along with her, humour her...and you know, Miss, there may be something to it.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yes, I’ve had friends call me, good friends, old friends and not ones given to imaginings. Telling me of terrible dreams, nightmares that have had them waking in a cold sweat in the middle of the night. Now, Miss, these are decent men, salt of the earth types, it would take the very devil to make them sweat, yet here they are behaving like ninnies. If I was a God-fearing man I’d be thinking that the devil himself walked our streets.”

  “So what do you think?” Jen asked quietly, ignoring the sudden racing of her pulse.

  He shrugged, “To be honest I don’t know. With the murder of Al Turner and the child abductions, I really don’t know what to think. It’s like the place is jinxed, I’ve lived here close on forty years and frankly I’ve never seen the like.”

  He leaned in even closer, his air confidential, “You’re not the only one that’s been in this morning. I’ve had two more before you, and all talking about sudden and inexplicable damage to their houses, and most often on doors and window frames.” He shook his head, “Something is up. I dunno what, but something is. You can sense it.” He gestured at the mist outside, “That should have lifted by now. It’s just weird, something is just not right and frankly it’s put the wind right up me.”

  Jen stared at him, “What does your wife say?”

  He shook his head, “Nothing, only that this is stuff that needs to be done, and that I wouldn’t understand.” He tapped the side of his head and grinned, “Secret women’s business, I reckon.”

  Jen smiled tightly and nodded.

  She thought about saying something then fell silent. It seemed that the older women of the town might have an inkling of was going on, but to identify the threat as being Fae to this man; well, Jen did not know what to say, or how to say it without seeming a complete fool.

  Finally, she cleared her voice and simply murmured, “Perhaps, she needs to be listened to.”

  The hardware proprietor looked at her oddly, “You too, Miss? Well, perhaps you women have the right idea, after all there may be something to this women’s intuition t
hing.” He looked outside again at the fog, “All I know is this is weird weather – perhaps this is climate change?”