Nearby, a crowd cheered and the clang of sword on armor was followed by a great outcry, then laughter.
“The joust,” Fala said. “The Green Knight must have lost his head again.”
“A crowd pleaser,” Salaca responded, nodding.
As they moved forward, the rabbit bounced in front of them, still sawing madly at his fiddle and releasing an intricate waterfall of music. The vortex seemed no closer, so Keelie kept walking, the snapdragons singing loudly from their pot. The fiddler followed along, and behind them came the fae who had been gathered around. Before long, a great parade wove through the fae faire of Quicksilver, with Keelie at its head and Sean at her side. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was leading them to their doom.
They finally arrived at the vortex, which shone like a spiraling galaxy of light. Johnny O’Hare lowered his violin bow, but his music played on, flung up by the spinning vortex.
“Time to see the queen.” Coyote pulled out his gold pocket watch and clicked the stem. A loud boom shook them, as if something had exploded, but then Keelie felt time move again. It was like taking a breath after holding it for a long time, although she hadn’t been aware of holding her breath. Her heart seemed to beat to the rhythm of the clock.
Johnny O’Hare lifted his fiddle up to his shoulder and ran the bow down the strings. He began to play a new tune and everyone began dancing, but under the cheerful melody, Keelie heard the tick-tick of the clock keeping rhythm.
“Okay, what now?” Keelie looked at the vortex, which seemed to vanish into the ground. She did not want to step into a hole into nothingness.
Fala motioned toward the tornado of light. “Just jump into the light. It will carry you.”
The vortex pulsed in time to the music. Fala laughed. “Afraid, Lady Keliel? It’s the only way up.”
Sean grabbed her hand and held it tightly.
Knot walked to the edge, now dressed in the height of Victorian fashion with a velvet coat and floppy black tie above a snowy white linen shirt. He was almost at the edge when a furry brown blur in chaps and a cowboy vest barreled past. Coyote leaped into the light, shouting, “See you there.”
Knot bowed to Johnny O’Hare, then leaped into the vortex after him.
Elia stepped forward and clung to Keelie. “If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it together.”
Sean stood behind Keelie and wrapped his arms around her waist. Keelie clutched the pot of singing flowers in one arm and extended her other hand to Elia, who clutched it tightly. Together they stepped forward and fell.
But then they were flying. She could feel Sean’s strong arms around her, and Elia’s icy vice grip strangling her free hand. The flowers had fallen silent. The only sound she heard was Salaca and Fala, laughing maniacally behind her.
Keelie came to with a frantic gasp, brushing at whatever was tickling her face. Not spiders. Snowflakes. Shivering, she pushed herself up and looked down at the smooth, cold surface below her. Glass. It was some sort of floor. They were surrounded by darkness, and snowflakes landed softly on her face.
She hadn’t expected the world of fae to be cold and wintry. She’d envisioned the Shining Ones as living in sunlit castles surrounded by green meadows and fairy-tale forests. She looked around, but all she saw was darkness except for a small ball of light floating above them. It floated down toward them, expanding until they stood in a silvery circle of illumination. She righted the flowerpot.
Murmurs drifted around them. Beside her, Sean sat up, rubbing his head. At his other side, Elia lay still. Keelie crawled to her, barely registering that she was now wearing a skirt.
“Elia, wake up.” She shook the unconscious girl. She didn’t dare think about the baby.
Elia’s eyelids fluttered, and she moaned. “What happened?”
Relieved, Keelie sat cross-legged. She reached to close her cloak, but there was no cloak. Instead, she wore a burlap corset, and an underskirt of plain muslin stained with mud, and ugly shoes that looked like something she’d bought at the wicked-witch store. Red and white stockings covered her legs. Where was her favorite blue gown? This was not what she’d been wearing when she stepped through the vortex.
Sean’s clothes had been transformed also. His hauberk had become a too-short peasant shirt that exposed his midriff. His nice six-pack was on display, but it looked ridiculous. He had on green hose that stopped at the knee and clunky wooden clogs. His armor had vanished, as had his sword.
Elia now wore a yellow gown with big red handprints on the chest. It was even more hideous than the skirt Tarl the Mud Man had given Keelie at the High Mountain Renaissance Faire. Luckily, Elia was still too groggy to notice.
“Meow.”
“You stupid cat. If you would just remove your claw, then we can free ourselves,” Coyote growled.
Keelie looked over at Knot and gasped. His fur! He looked as if he’d been to a dog groomer’s and now had a fluffy pom-pom at the end of his tail. The fur on his legs had been shaved and he had little muffs by his paws. He was not going to love this look.
Elia lifted herself from the glassy ground and blinked. “Where are we?” She placed a hand protectively over her belly. “I feel queasy.”
“I think we’re in the court of the Shining Ones,” Keelie replied. “And I don’t think we’re outside anymore.” Although she couldn’t see it, she felt as if there was a ceiling somewhere far above them.
“What happened to our clothes?” Sean looked down at his new outfit in disgust.
Elia glanced down at herself and screamed. She jumped to her feet and started looking around, as if her other clothes might have been stashed somewhere, but they could see nothing outside the circle of light.
“A sorry jest,” Coyote said. His eyes glowed with anger. His motley brown fur had been transformed to black and white with a stripe running down his back. He now looked like a tall, skinny skunk.
“Why?” Keelie asked. But she knew the answer. The high fae—owners of general petty meanness.
Somewhere close, orchestral music began to play.
An announcer’s voice began to speak. “Ladies, good gentles, and all who are favored by the queen, please turn your attention to the center.” It sounded like Fala.
As if a light switch had been flipped on, light filled the corners and revealed a masked throng dressed in gorgeous clothing. Keelie didn’t have a good feeling about this.
Knot hissed.
Coyote narrowed his eyes as a woman in a white feathered swan mask and a crystal-beaded gown strode toward them. She was followed by a good-looking elf who wore a small black mask over his eyes and a sweeping black cloak. He examined Keelie with interest, and she thought there was something familiar about him.
Out of the corner of her mouth, Keelie asked, “Is this lady the queen?”
“Yes,” Coyote said, twisting his muzzle the same way.
Keelie stared at the beautiful woman. She could have been any of the gorgeous women who lived in L.A., dressed for an awards-show red carpet—at Mardi Gras. So far, there didn’t seem to be anything magical about her.
“Who’s the elf? I can’t believe he’s here after the big deal they made about no elves.” Keelie glanced down at Coyote. He scratched at the huge patch of white fur between his ears that made it seem as if he had a bad toupee.
“Never seen him. You’re right. Elves and fairies don’t hang out together.”
“That is no elf,” Fala said. Before he could explain, the queen spotted them.
“My, my. Look what has crawled into our realm,” Queen Vania said, looking down at them. Her violet eyes held Keelie’s from behind her mask. Dark hair woven with gold spilled down her back. She seemed regal, and waves of strong magic seemed to flow from her, tickling Keelie’s skin. This woman was in charge, and she knew it. Woe be unto anyone w
ho disobeyed her, for they would feel the queen’s wrath.
Keelie stood up, snatching up the potted flowers. She’d paid her dues—she wasn’t about to be looked down on. Of course, she was on a diplomatic mission, as she had to keep reminding herself. She would have to save the sarcasm for when she got back to Grey Mantle.
“Why do you insult me, coming here dressed as beggars and clowns?” The queen looked down her haughty nose. “I don’t find it amusing.”
Keelie matched her stare with her own. She’d had plenty of practice staring down mall divas back in California. She’d almost thought back home, but home was the Dread Forest now, and she wished she was there this very second. The staring contest lasted for almost sixty seconds, and then the queen barked a laugh and looked around. “Who is responsible for this?”
Keelie felt the tense muscles in her shoulders relax a tiny bit. The queen’s laughter might be a good sign.
Fala and Salaca looked toward the ceiling and fidgeted. The queen’s gaze shot straight to them. “My lords, such petty tricks amused my sister, but Princess Linsa is no more.” For a second the queen froze, then she took a deep breath and turned to Keelie. Behind her, the elf who apparently wasn’t an elf had turned his face away.
“I didn’t invite Keliel Heartwood and her companions here so that they could be humiliated.” The queen turned back to them. “Lady Keliel, good folk, be as you were.”
The itchy burlap corset morphed into the silky feel of the flowing blue dress she’d worn earlier. Keelie saw that the others were back to normal as well.
Fala and Salaca bowed their heads. “Our apologies to our guests.”
Keelie certainly knew who wore the big-girl panties in this kingdom.
The queen walked toward a carved throne. Tall and wide-seated, it seemed more like a small building than a chair. Crystal and white stone polar bears chased each other around the base. It seemed to be made of frost and ice. She sat down, flanked by her knights, and clapped her hands. “Everyone dance while I seek counsel from my advisors.” She motioned to Keelie, who approached the throne warily. “Allow me to prepare for our work. Soon you and I must mend the rift.”
“Great.” Keelie smiled at the elegant and haughty fairy queen. She was glad that Vania was serious, and willing to try to mend the disagreement between the elves and the fairies.
“We will speak again soon.” A curtain of mist descended from the ceiling and hid the queen, who was flanked by some of the fairies who had been in the hall.
The music began to play, and this time, Johnny O’Hare hopped in front of the orchestra and began fiddling, and the orchestra played along to the melody. The fiddling rabbit winked at Keelie.
The not-really-an-elf was standing nearby when the queen disappeared. Keelie walked up to him.
“You know, it’s not polite to make fun of your guests by dressing up like an elf. Definitely not cool, and it’s going to make my job a lot harder.”
He turned to her and looked her up and down before bowing deeply. “Forgive me. I thought it would amuse Queen Vania. May I have this dance?” he asked.
Sean was about to protest, but Keelie accepted before he could say anything. She wanted to know more about the fairies, and possibly the fake elf could help her find out what the fae wanted her to do.
“Do not let them scare you,” he said as the crowd watched him place his hands around her waist and pull her closer to him. “They do not often see visitors. And you are unique even among those few.” He guided Keelie around a dancing couple and then they glided into the twirling throng.
“What a crowd. They’re intimidating,” Keelie said.
When he swung her under one of the floating lights, she noticed that hers was the only shadow. “Why does no one cast a shadow?”
“The shadow would reveal their true form, so it’s best in many instances for them to hide their shadows. For some it’s a habit that is hard to break.”
“So why do you hide yours? Are you a troll?” Keelie smiled up at him.
“Vania thinks so.” He laughed. “You should see the look on your face. No my dear, I am no troll. I am much like you, I think.”
“What should I call you?” Keelie stopped, as did the fake elf, who smiled mischievously down at her. She liked the way his mouth crinkled when he smiled. Behind him, beyond the dancers, she saw Sean’s scowling face. Oops.
“Call me friend, and I shall be happy.”
“Right. Thanks for the dance. I need to go see if the queen has finished talking to her advisors.” Keelie pulled her hand from his.
His black eyes looked down into hers. Black, she thought absently. Not a fairy color, but there were all kinds of fairies, as she’d discovered today. “Do you think you can really heal the rift?” he asked.
“Heal is a mighty strong word. I can get everyone talking together. It’ll be a start.”
“Talk accomplishes little. The situation calls for quick action and strong magic.”
“Strong magic? They don’t need to be charmed in order to talk, do they?” Keelie could see herself in his shiny black eyes. Images of goblins, ancient and wrinkled buglike creatures, and red caps filled her mind. She smelled the earthy smell of loam and for a moment felt homesick, until she heard the faint and familiar discordant jangle of a jester’s bell. Peascod.
Keelie suddenly felt cold and vulnerable. She wanted to find Sean. She needed him. There was no telling what or who the creature before her really was.
His voice changed, becoming deeper, but kindness was there along with need. “Keliel, you must leave this place. The queen’s plans will put you in great danger.”
She stepped away from him. This was a trap. The queen wanted Keelie to betray her, to put Keelie in a bad spot so that she would do whatever the queen asked. Never trust the fae.
The jangle came closer and Peascod stepped out of the crowd. “Master, I have seen the elves, the cursed cat, and Coyote, but I have yet to find Keliel Heartwood.” He stopped suddenly, staring at Keelie.
“As you can see, she is here, with me.” Her dancing companion didn’t seem to think there was anything wrong with Peascod’s presence here, and Keelie stiffened in his arms as she realized that the jester had called him “master.”
“Are you following me, jester?” she asked Peascod. “I see you everywhere. Did you come here from the Redwoods?”
“I go where I please, stupid mongrel,” Peascod snarled.
Her companion opened his mouth, but before he could speak Keelie whirled to face him. “He called you master.”
The mist at the end of the ballroom vanished and the queen stepped out. “I thought I smelled your familiar evil stench, Peascod.”
Keelie stared from one to the other.
Queen Vania snapped her fingers and the snow started up again. Dancers swept around them, and whorls of lights from the aurora borealis swirled through the room.
Keelie felt the room’s magic flow through her body, along with the tension of their group, facing each other in the center of the dancing merrymakers.
“Your friends are protected,” the queen told Keelie. “They’re with Fala and Salaca.”
“What about Knot and Coyote?”
Vania pressed her lips together in a tense line of displeasure. “Lesser fae who think they’re above their betters. They’re with your friends, and as long as they behave, they’ll be fine.”
Peascod stepped forward warily and stood beside the fake elf. Keelie recoiled.
The queen’s eyes narrowed. “Herne, take your pet and get out of here.”
“Herne?” Keelie’s mind reeled. The fake elf couldn’t be the Lord of the Forest.
Then, as she watched, his ears shrank and his form buckled and throbbed, lengthening to become the stag-antlered man she’d seen in the clearing. A thick crown of vib
rant green leaves sat on his rich chestnut hair, twining between horns that seemed to sprout from his forehead. He turned his handsome bearded face to hers.
“Lady Keliel,” he said, his voice thick as velvety moss and ringing with the echoes of bugling elk, “heed my warning.” And then he vanished, taking Peascod with him and leaving Keelie with the Queen of the Fae, who glared at her in displeasure.
So that had been Herne, the Unsidhe, Master of the Wild Hunt Herne. Keelie stared at the spot where he’d been. She’d always assumed that Herne was old—like a grizzled wizard, or maybe more skeletal, like the grim reaper or the Timekeeper. And she’d only seen him from afar when he appeared beneath her window in Grey Mantle.
Queen Vania pursed her lips, resplendent and cold in her sparkling gown. She’d removed the swan mask and now wore a crown of quicksilver leaves. In the background, the green and red lights of the aurora borealis glowed brightly, casting an alien light around them. “He knows it annoys me when he comes here,” she said. “He’s forbidden, of course, but he couldn’t resist coming to catch a glimpse of you.”
“I’m ready to help, Your Majesty. Where do we start? The elves said they’re ready to talk about the magic that’s leaking.” Keelie thought it was better to get straight to the facts, given that fairies liked to play cat-and-mouse games. She hoped her face projected concentration and unwavering strength, because on the inside, her internal organs quaked in fear. She laid out her agenda, as she’d seen her mother do when preparing a case for trial. “First, we identify all the parties involved. The High Court, of course.” She bowed her head to the queen, congratulating herself on her diplomatic presentation. “The elves, the dwarves, and who else? Is Herne one of the parties involved in the rift?”
The queen stared at her as if she were speaking nonsense. “The rift will not be resolved with identification. It will take raw magic and targeted power, and you and I are the only ones who can accomplish it. Follow me.”
The Quicksilver Faire Page 9