Mackenzie stretched her back and rubbed her sore fingers. “Thank you.”
“Aye, ’tis very good.” The old woman patted Mackenzie on the shoulder and stepped back.
“You asked why I have anything to do with Finian,” Maigret said when Mackenzie’s hands were traveling across the loom again. “He’s not my kin, but I feel as responsible for him as you feel for your sister.”
Mackenzie stopped and turned, but Maigret motioned her to continue.
“He followed me here when he was just a youth, Finian did,” said Maigret. “He heard me telling stories in the village when I’d first returned from my seven years of service. That’s what the villagers thought they were, the stories of a crazy woman. None of them knew me. Too many years had passed above ground, and all my kin were dead. They mocked me, the villagers. All of them save the youth with the humped back. He believed, young Finian did. He asked me to lead him down to the Otherworld, tried to buy his way with a little flute he’d whittled from an ash branch. ’Twas the only thing of value he possessed.”
“And you brought him here?” said Mackenzie as she finished another row.
The old woman shrugged her shoulders. “I would never knowingly have led anyone to this place. When I came back, it was to save others from repeating my fate. There was nothing left for me in the world above—that became plainer every day I was there. The only person who had time for me was Finian, and only because his deformity made him an outcast too. I couldn’t return right away. I had to wait for the next solstice. And all the while Finian begged me to take him to the faeries. ’Twas an obsession with him.”
“Why?” asked Mackenzie. “What did he want from them?”
“He wanted to be looked at without revulsion,” said Maigret. “Like other men.”
“But his back is still deformed.”
“Aye, but you’re getting ahead of the story.” Maigret cleared her throat. “I had been staying in a ruined hut a little ways from the village. To evade Finian, who slept under a rock ledge nearby, I rose before daybreak the morning of the summer solstice. I crept away quietly and went to the wee creek where I’d spied the faery ring so many years past. But the ring wasn’t there. The sun rose higher and higher in the sky as I searched the bank. I kept looking, even when the light started to fade again. It wasn’t until dusk that what I sought appeared at last, a bit of gold gleaming at the water’s edge. I went to it and picked it up, and immediately someone leapt out of the bushes from above. It was Finian—he’d followed me from the hut. He grabbed my arm and held on to it as we were both pulled into the water and carried away.”
Mackenzie had stopped weaving, caught up in Maigret’s story. She waited as the old woman paused to take a breath.
“I was angry—as angry as you were when you arrived tonight. I begged Finian to hide with me in the edges—in the marshes that surround the faeries’ world—to wait with me until the ways opened again and he could go home. But he would not wait. He found his way to the island and presented himself to the fair folk at once. He made his request, and he was promised that his back would be fixed if he drank from the solstice cup at the end of the banquet that night.”
“But it’s not,” Mackenzie argued.
“Nay, he didn’t drink from the cup after all,” said Maigret. “Finian had brought his wooden flute with him, and the faeries saw it as they were feasting that night. They asked him to play a tune for them— faeries love good music. Finian’s flute was a humble instrument, but he played it well. So well that they brought out a set of faery pipes next and asked him to play those too.” The old woman’s voice grew hushed. “You’ve heard the music Finian makes with those pipes. He has a rare talent.”
“It—it’s evil, his music,” said Mackenzie. “It puts some kind of spell on people.”
“On Finian too,” said Maigret. “You know what it does to you and your sister when you listen without protection. Imagine the effect it’s had on Finian, playing that music season after season. He won’t eat any bogberries to protect himself. It’s like a sickness— he’s come to love that music more than food or air.”
“He should destroy the pipes,” Mackenzie said angrily. “He knows that people drink from the solstice cup because they’re too stunned by his music to refuse it.”
“A mother could as soon destroy her babe as Finian could destroy those pipes,” Maigret said with an impatient shake of her head. “Aye, the pipe’s music enchants everyone who hears it, unless they’ve eaten bogberries first. But you must understand—visitors to this world were drinking from the solstice cup long before Finian arrived. Faeries like Nuala would find another way to make them take the cup if Finian was ever to leave. He’s not the enemy, lass.”
“So what happened?” said Mackenzie. “You said Finian was going to drink from the cup, but then he didn’t.”
“The fair folk wouldn’t let him have it,” Maigret said. “Not once they’d heard him play. It takes feeling, a unique awareness of the world, to produce that kind of music. You’ve seen the other human attendants. They’re mute. Their emotions are blunted. They’re like sleepwalkers. Finian’s gift would have been lost had he drunk from the solstice cup like the others. The faeries wouldn’t let that happen. They wanted the music to continue. So they found another way to bind the young musician to them. They let him keep the pipes—with one condition.”
“That he stayed in their world and played for them,” Mackenzie finished.
“Aye, Finian is bound to the fair folk as surely as if he’d drunk from that cup.”
Mackenzie was silent as she digested the old woman’s story. “I don’t see why you feel responsible for him. It was his decision to follow you here.”
Maigret shook her head. “I should have taken more care. I knew he’d try to follow, and yet I came anyway.”
“Finian says he owes you for something,” said Mackenzie. “That you did him a favor.”
“He counts it a favor that I led him here, unwitting gift that it was,” Maigret said with a grunt. “He was nothing in the world he came from. He was a wretch, an outcast. Here he has the pipes, and the respect and admiration their music brings.”
“The respect and admiration of the faeries, maybe. He doesn’t care what happens to the people who hear his music,” Mackenzie said darkly.
“It pains him more than he lets show,” Maigret said as she stood up. “But that’s enough about Finian. ’Tis your sister’s plight we need to think about now.” She picked up the pouch that held the pieces of fabric Mackenzie had cut from her and her sister’s clothing. “Time to weave these in.”
Under the old woman’s direction, Mackenzie tore the fabric into narrower strips. She knotted them together to form one long strip, which she wound around the shuttle.
“Aye, that’s it,” said Maigret as Mackenzie wove the fabric strips through the taut warp threads. When Mackenzie had used up all the fabric, she reloaded the shuttle with the coarse twine Maigret had spun for her.
“I have one more question,” Mackenzie said before she started weaving again. “Why is Finian still young, if you’ve—”
“Become an ancient crone?” Maigret finished with a smile. “This is the land of eternal youth. At least it is for those eating faery food every day, like Finian. But I eat only what I gather and prepare with my own hands.”
“I see,” said Mackenzie.
The movement of the shuttle back and forth across the loom was hypnotic. Mackenzie was only vaguely aware of her stiffening muscles and the blisters forming on her fingertips. Without a way to track the passage of time as she worked, Finian’s arrival caught her by surprise.
“Ready?” the piper called from the trapdoor. “’Tis past time we were off.”
“But I’m not finished,” Mackenzie said, turning to Maigret in dismay. “It’s not nearly big enough yet!”
“’Twill have to suffice as it is,” said Maigret. “Finian’s right, lass. You’ve run out of time.” She gently pried the shutt
le from Mackenzie’s hands and replaced it with a bone needle threaded with more coarse yarn. “You need to stitch up the edges of your weaving so they don’t unravel. That’s right,” she said as Mackenzie began to sew. “Big stitches—they don’t have to be even.”
“’Twill be light soon,” Finian said impatiently. “I can’t wait much longer.”
“I’m working as fast as I can,” said Mackenzie.
“Now listen to me carefully,” Maigret said when the hemming was finished and the rectangle of fabric had been removed from the loom. She gripped Mackenzie by the shoulders and looked sternly into her eyes. “There is one more thing you must do before the weaving is complete. The mantle is a counter-charm against the magic of the solstice cup. It has pieces from your sister’s clothing to return her to herself and pieces from your clothing to bind your sister to you until you’re both away.”
Mackenzie nodded nervously.
“But the charm is incomplete until you add one more element—a fiber from one of Nuala’s garments.”
Mackenzie felt the blood drain from her face. “But—how do I get that?” she asked faintly.
Maigret’s gray eyes didn’t waver. “You must rip it out. A bit of thread will do.” She pressed the bone needle into Mackenzie’s hand. “When you have it, you must sew it into the mantle.”
“How am I supposed to do that?” Mackenzie asked, her throat constricting. “I don’t know where Nuala’s room is! I don’t know where she keeps her clothes!”
“Then you must take it from the garment she is wearing,” said Maigret. “Bite one of your fingernails so that it’s ragged, and use it to snag her gown as she leans over you.”
Mackenzie could barely hear the old woman over the blood rushing through her head.
“You must keep the mantle out of sight until the last moment,” Maigret continued, ignoring the dismay on Mackenzie’s face. “Fold it up and hide it under the shift you wear under your dress. You and your sister will be led outside at nightfall for the Sealing Ceremony.” She squeezed Mackenzie’s arms gently. “Remember, Nuala believes you’ve drunk from the cup. No matter what you see, you can’t give yourself away until it’s time.”
“When do I bring out the mantle?” Mackenzie managed to say through clenched teeth.
“When your sister steps into the fire,” Maigret replied. “Not a moment sooner. Throw it over her shoulders, and then hold on tight. You must hold on with every bit of courage and strength you have.
Nuala will fight to keep your sister, but she cannot harm you once you’ve crossed into the fire. Whatever you see, whatever you hear, it’s all an illusion. Remember that, lass.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
There was a faint glow all around the horizon when Mackenzie left Maigret’s shack. She hurried down the ladder after Finian and stepped into the rowboat that waited below.
“We’ll have to move like the wind itself,” the piper muttered as he started rowing. “We’ve dallied too long on this side of the water.”
Mackenzie clutched the folded mantle to her chest and said nothing.
When they reached the opposite shore, Finian secured the boat with a hasty knot and strode off. Mackenzie had to take the stairs two at a time to keep up with him. She was out of breath before they’d even reached the end of the first avenue.
There was no sunrise, only a gradual softening of the darkness, like black ink fading to gray. The twisted silhouettes around them became ghostly trees and thorn bushes. As they turned onto the path that led up to the faery mound, Mackenzie heard small scurrying noises in the undergrowth.
“You’d best move those legs faster,” Finian called over his shoulder. “There are creatures out here that wake with an appetite.”
Mackenzie didn’t need any more urging. She caught up with the piper immediately and stayed by his side until they were underground.
Finian put his finger to his lips as they entered the first torch-lit passage. He pulled Mackenzie into a dark alcove and whispered in her ear. “Most faeries will still be in bed, but it would only take one to raise the alarm. Stay with me, and if I squeeze your arm, freeze. Don’t even breathe. Do you understand?”
Mackenzie nodded.
The distance between the entrance to the faery mound and Mackenzie’s chamber seemed twice as long this time. She couldn’t even be sure that Finian was taking the same route he’d used the previous two nights. In the dim light, every passage looked the same. She held her breath as they approached each turn. Halfway down a long corridor she heard the sound she’d been dreading: footsteps approaching from a side passage.
Finian pulled her backward so quickly that she nearly lost her balance. He shoved her through the nearest doorway. He was halfway through after her when a woman’s voice called out to him.
“Is that you, Piper? You’re out of bed early.”
Mackenzie froze.
“Aye, ’tis me, my lady,” Finian said, backing out into the hallway again. “I couldn’t sleep. I’ve been composing something special for tonight’s ceremony.”
Mackenzie heard suspicion in the faery’s voice. “Do you always compose so far from your chamber?”
“Indeed, my lady,” Finian said smoothly. “My best pieces always come to me as my feet are wandering. And may I ask why you are awake so early this morning?”
“It’s not early—it’s late,” the faery said with a girlish laugh. “I haven’t been to bed yet. Perhaps you could escort me there and play a simple tune to put me to sleep.”
From the shadows, Mackenzie saw Finian give a gallant bow. “Nothing would please me more.”
“He’s coming back,” Mackenzie told herself as she waited, crouched down in an empty room with Breanne’s mantle pressed to her chest. “He has to come back.” Her ears strained for the sound of approaching footsteps, but the corridor outside remained silent.
“Come on, where are you, Finian?”
She gave him ten minutes, until the count of six hundred. She gave him five minutes more, and then five after that. By the time it added up to half an hour, she was too anxious to sit any longer.
“I can find the way,” Mackenzie told herself as she reentered the hallway. “I go straight, and then I turn left—”
Any confidence she had evaporated at the end of the corridor. There was a junction, but both arms of the T ended abruptly at blank walls. Mackenzie retraced her steps. There was an entrance to another passage just down from the room where she’d waited for Finian. She followed it several yards until it led around a corner—and she found herself dead-ended again.
Mackenzie hit the wall with her fist. “There has to be a way out,” she said desperately.
She spun around at a rustling noise behind her. When a gray-hooded girl turned the corner with a large jug in her arms, she let out her breath. It was Deirdre, Nuala’s redheaded attendant.
Mackenzie didn’t wait for her heart to settle. “Please,” she begged. “You have to help me! I need to get back, but all the hallways just end, like this one—” She turned to indicate the wall behind her, but it was no longer there. “What?” The corridor continued in a straight line as far as she could see.
“Right, the ways don’t trust me. It opened for you.” Mackenzie turned back to the servant, who had stopped a few paces away. “Please—I have to get to my room before Nuala gets there!”
The attendant’s face remained impassive.
“Do you understand anything I’m saying?” Mackenzie asked, shaking her head in frustration. She started again, pronouncing each syllable carefully this time. “Are you going anywhere near my chamber? Because I could just follow if you are—”
She moved aside as she spoke, out of the attendant’s path. The hooded girl came toward her and then walked past.
“I guess that’s the best answer I’m going to get,” said Mackenzie. “All right then, I’m right behind you.”
They made it all the way to the corridor outside the chamber Mackenzie shared with her sister. Mac
kenzie’s chest felt lighter the instant they turned the corner and she recognized the hallway. They were almost at the door—twenty paces away, then ten, then five—when Mackenzie heard an unmistakable jingling sound coming from an adjoining passage.
Half a dozen panicked thoughts raced through Mackenzie’s mind as she swiveled to face the girl who’d been escorting her. In the split second that their eyes connected, Mackenzie thought she saw some emotion flicker across the attendant’s face. She couldn’t wait to find out for sure. She flew to her room, fumbling with the buttons of her outer garment as she ran.
Mackenzie was still pulling the gown over her head when she heard the sound of pottery shattering a short distance down the hall. Nuala’s voice followed immediately, angry hisses and clicks that could only be curses. The distraction bought Mackenzie just enough time. She shoved the mantle under the mattress of the canopy bed and dove under the covers beside her sister. She had just chewed one of her fingernails to make it ragged when Nuala appeared at the door, still berating the girl in the hall.
Mackenzie left her hands above the quilted coverlet. She closed her eyes and prayed that her pounding heart and trembling limbs would pass for symptoms of the solstice fire she was supposed to have drunk two nights before.
She could hardly breathe as jingling footsteps approached the bed. There was a faint earthy smell, like a garden after a storm. Mackenzie felt a slight disturbance in the air above her face. It took all of her will not to flinch when the faery’s fingers landed on her cheek.
“Are you dreaming of pretty things?” Nuala whispered as she stroked Mackenzie’s skin. “I’m so glad you finally gave in.”
Mackenzie forced herself to breathe evenly.
“And you,” Nuala said, reaching past Mackenzie to Breanne. “I see your eyes fluttering, like moths still trapped in their cocoons. Don’t worry—you won’t be stuck in this bed much longer. I’ll return this evening to help you both get up.”
The Solstice Cup Page 10