The Quicksilver Faire

by Gillian Summers

  As if sensing what she was about to suggest, Herne looked down at her. “He would have had me kill you to further his plans. Would you not have me do the same to him?”

  Keelie shook her head. “No.”

  Peascod lifted his head and spat at her. “I don’t want your human charity. You’re below me.”

  “Do not speak to her like that.” Herne lifted his hand.

  “Do not banish me from your sight, my lord, I am the only thing saving you from this madness.” Peascod rose to his knees and cradled his limp arm, which hung from his shoulder like a well-worn dishrag. “You must see reason.”

  “Reason?” Herne laughed. “You have acted out my suspicions, Peascod. If I were to let you stay, then my kingdom would be in danger. Bringing Keliel here will save us all. From this day forward, you are banished from my sight and from Under-the-Hill, never to return.”

  Peascod glared at Herne, and an understanding passed between them. Keelie didn’t know what it was, but it was apparent that a conflict had been building between them for a while now. She was only the catalyst that prompted the banishment; still, she wasn’t comfortable with that idea.

  “You can’t banish me, milord. Under-the-Hill is my home. I will be doomed to roam the Earth without home or clan.” Peascod got to his feet, still cradling his arm.

  “Then you will feel the pain of its loss for the remainder of your days upon Earth.” Herne motioned for Keelie to join him.

  “You would send me away for her? For a mere human, so she will be your consort?” Peascod spoke each word with venomous hate.

  Consort? Keelie racked her brain for the definition. She’d heard that word. Where? It wasn’t a car … then the image of a woman dressed in a tight, revealing corset at the High Mountain Faire came to mind. She had been introduced as the king’s mistress. The king’s woman. Whoa.

  Keelie was sixteen. She wasn’t ready to be any man’s consort.

  Peascod stumbled closer, his face lined with pain and anger. He glowered balefully at Keelie. “This is all your fault. You will pay for your interference. If I were you, Keliel Heartwood, I would sleep with one eye open, because I will always be near you.”

  She stared at him. “I’ll be waiting for you.” She tried to sound brave, although she was so scared she wanted to pee in her pants. The green magic within her wove a shield as fear pulsed through her body.

  The trees whispered to her. Lady Keliel we are here for you.

  Wait. Let me know where the jester goes. I want all the trees to watch for him.

  Yes, Tree Shepherdess.

  Herne raised his hand, but before he could summon his magic, Peascod spun round and round, and descended back into the ground. Keelie hoped he would tunnel his way into the depths of hell, from where she was certain he came.

  The discordant jangle and Peascod’s voice echoed in her mind. Till we meet again. Enjoy what’s left of your life. It will be short.

  His threat seemed real. She turned to Herne, who offered her his hand. “Come with me to Under-the-Hill,” he said.

  Keelie could see the shimmers of magic rolling off him. In the back of her mind she heard herself say no, that she had to go back to Grey Mantle, to Sean, but she could not speak. Herne waved his cloak and, like a storm cloud, it billowed out behind him and shrouded her in its voluminous material.

  And when he took her into his arms, everything went dark.

  Air whooshed past her ears. Keelie wrapped her arms around Herne, eyes closed against the hot wind, struggling to keep upright as the ground vanished beneath her. The darkness intensified her fear, and she screamed. Then, with a lurch, she was on solid ground again. But was it just a ledge? She kept her eyes shut tight.

  Muffled against him, she could feel only his powerful arms and the woodsy scent of his clothes. She grasped the back of his leather jacket, just in case.

  “We’re here, Keliel,” Herne said in a soft voice. “Open your eyes and behold the wonders of Under-the-Hill.”

  Still reeling from the wild ride, Keelie held tighter, trying to find a better handhold on the solid wall of his back muscles. “I don’t think so. I’m okay with my eyes closed.”

  “Much as I’d enjoy carrying you, you’ll need to walk.”

  At the thought of being carried by Herne, Keelie’s eyes flew open. She was enjoying his muscular presence a bit too much. What had gotten into her? She stepped away from him and looked, amazed, at the vast world before her. A dim, reddish light, the eternal dusk of Under-the-Hill, illuminated rolling plains and rocky hills, with roads cutting through them and sometimes disappearing underground. In the distance, a dark castle with burning towers illuminated the area with its bright flames.

  The air was rich with a dank, musky scent, part wet soil, part vegetable rot, with a faint reminder of the reptile house at the zoo. She moved away from Herne, as if distance would help her control her thoughts and feelings. She missed Knot, who would have clawed and drooled on her if she was glamoured. Some guardian he’d turned out to be. Here she was, being tempted by Herne, and she was on her own. She would have to protect herself against her desires.

  Keelie blinked in the dim light, wondering, as she had in Under-the-Hill in the Dread Forest, how creatures lived their whole lives below ground. She didn’t think she could stay in this dusky realm for very long. She had too much elf in her. She needed the sun.

  Cold air brushed against her skin and Keelie wrapped her arms around herself. Far away, she could see what seemed to be tall dark trees, their branches reaching upwards although there was no sun to warm them. She threw her tree sense toward them. The energy that touched her in return was not the familiar green energy connected to light. It was Earth magic. Deep, deep Earth magic. She could feel the energy of various crystals and rocks intermingled within their amber sap. These trees were different from the trees above. They seemed wilder, more primal and in tune with a long-ago version of Earth.

  Intrigued, Keelie greeted them. Hello.

  Who are you? They seemed surprised that she’d spoken to them. They replied as one, like a hive of bees.

  I am Keliel Tree Talker. I have been called Forest Friend. She had learned to be formal when greeting a new forest.

  You’re the Tree Shepherdess. We’ve heard stories about you from the Mother Root.

  That was a new one—Mother Root. The Mother Tree got around.

  She’s the one.

  A chill went down her spine as she wondered what this strange forest could want from her. She wasn’t sure what stories they’d been told about her, and these were dark fae trees. And something wasn’t right. She couldn’t put her finger on it. Maybe Herne knew.

  “Trees need sunlight, but I sense these are using another source of energy.” Keelie gestured toward the strange dark forest. She wondered what their bark was like. Would it have a different texture?

  Herne arched an eyebrow as if her question took him by surprise. “They tap into Earth magic.”

  Keelie was pleased that her analysis was correct. She closed her eyes and connected with the trees. She wanted to know what species she was dealing with. She’d found cultural and personality similarities among different varieties of trees back home. Maybe these were different. She would have to add this information to the Lore Book when she updated the tree sections. This was all new knowledge.

  “I feel like they might be oaks, but I’m not sure what else.” She turned to Herne, seeking an explanation.

  “Linsa and I brought acorns back from Earth long ago, and I planted them in soil from the primal forest, but Under-the-Hill transformed them. When the grove developed a consciousness, it sought out energy from the crystals to take the place of the sun.” Herne frowned. “Lately, this has changed—one of the troubling differences in the Northwoods and Under-the-Hill. I feel an emptiness here, as if something is gon
e, or blocked away from me. I thought that you could speak to the trees and find out what it is.”

  Everyone wanted something from her. Keelie sighed. Maybe if she helped Herne out, she’d get him to cooperate with the others.

  She moved closer to the grove, savoring the mix of magics that had created it. She was a lot like these trees, a mongrel mix. She stumbled, then turned to stare at the smooth soil behind her. No holes, no roots. Had the ground moved?

  “I’m pleased a tree shepherdess finds my trees interesting and is welling to help.” Herne reached for her hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow. He didn’t seem to have noticed anything strange. “Would you like to take a tour of my world? There is someone you should meet, who knows something of your family’s past.”

  A thrill of excitement shivered down Keelie’s spine. Who here might know of her family? There were no elves here. “You’ve got my attention. Let’s go.”

  She took a step forward, and then realized that her feet were no longer touching the rocky ground. Instead, she was hovering inches above it. She flapped her arms and skidded sideways before righting herself. She was flying.

  “Yes, we’re going to fly there. Quit flapping around as if you had wings. You’ll get yourself killed.”

  Now she knew what the wings at the Crystal Faire were for. Controlled flight. Keelie desperately wanted a pair. “Where are we going, exactly?”

  “Markettown. It’s our marketplace—our Under-the-Hill version of the Quicksilver Faire.”

  Keelie didn’t know if she liked the sound of that. On the other hand, maybe she’d find some wings, although she had no idea of what passed for money down here. Going to Quicksilver had been enough for her. And she didn’t like the sound of rogue goblins. But before she could respond, Herne waved his cloak.

  Keelie rose like a bubble in a glass of Coke. “Oh no. Not again. I can’t do the whoosh.” She saw the ground far below her; she was hovering like an alien spaceship.

  Herne chuckled. “We won’t whoosh, as you put it. Flying is different.” He took off, his hands at his sides, looking more like a surfer than Superman.

  Keelie glided in the air behind him, her hair blowing back from her face. She looked down. Mistake.

  Herne grabbed her arm. “Looking down is not recommended.” He pointed ahead. “There’s my home.”

  They were close to the castle, and now she could see that a small town had sprung up around its base.

  “We’ll walk in,” Herne said. “Flying disturbs some of my people.”

  They landed outside the stone gate entrance into the town. Keelie was relieved when her toes touched the dirt, pleased that she could still stand without wobbling. She realized she’d quickly acclimated to Under-the-Hill, more easily than she had to the Quicksilver Faire. Funny how much she liked being here, despite the gloom and the reptilian-basement smell.

  Loud voices sang from an ale house inside the gates. She almost knew the words to the song, and felt herself drawn to it. She knew she should talk to Herne about helping her with the rift, but curiosity overcame her. This was the largest gathering of dark fae in the hemisphere. If Knot were here, he would’ve already found the alehouse.

  As they entered the stone gates, a bug-eyed creature was suddenly right there with them, watching every move Keelie made. He made her uncomfortable and she walked faster, giving him plenty of room. It could be that it was protective of Herne, but maybe it blamed her for Peascod’s absence.

  Unlike at the Quicksilver Faire, the market stalls here were close together. Crowds filled the narrow lanes. Some of the residents looked almost human, while others were fantastically different. They talked and bargained and laughed. Keelie had not heard any good-natured laughter in Quicksilver. Although strange, this town seemed friendly.

  Herne walked ahead, then stopped and turned to her. “Are you coming? I’m sure you’ll find Markettown as unique as Quicksilver.”

  Keelie followed, watching out for the tiny goblins who scurried everywhere. Strangely, she didn’t feel out of place.

  She stepped aside as two huge trolls in long robes shuffled past, tusks protruding from their lower lips. They released a stench that Keelie recognized from Quicksilver—the hooded creature there had been a troll. A group of stork-legged men with little fat bodies, like bowling balls on stilts, scrambled to get out of their way. They cursed as one of them got his legs tangled and they all fell into a produce stand. The stand’s owner was a three-mouthed man, and he used all his mouths to curse them impressively.

  She was comforted at the sight of dwarves. At least she knew how to deal with them. Unlike the abandoned feeling of the Under-the-Hill beneath the Dread Forest, this Under-the-Hill seemed very much alive. Maybe Herne’s presence made the difference.

  And despite the gloomy light all around them, Keelie couldn’t help noticing how different this Under-the-Hill was from the High Court. The dark fae seemed happier than the Shining Ones. They were more real, or maybe just more like her … they seemed to accept each other regardless of appearance or power. Keelie wondered if her sense of belonging was genuine or part of some glamour.

  She crashed into Herne, who helped her and wrapped his arm protectively around her. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s—” Keelie stared at him, her tongue was tied. She loved the feeling of his arms around her. Was she under some kind of spell?

  “It’s a spider. I’m afraid of spiders,” she stammered, lying. She was afraid of her attraction to Herne.

  He put his other arm around her, gathering her close to him. “You’re safe with me.” He brushed his face against her hair. “Your blood calls to me. I find you enchanting.”

  “I’m sixteen, Herne. I haven’t even had a boyfriend for even a whole summer yet, and your last relationship lasted five hundred years. I can’t process that.”

  He smiled at her. “I can wait a long time for the right consort.” He ran his arms down to her waist, then kissed her hard and fast on the lips—a drive-by smooch. He released her and stepped back and bowed. A crowd had gathered and burst into applause.

  Keelie blushed, though she determined not to be embarrassed if he wasn’t. “Aren’t we supposed to find out about the rogue goblins ?”

  “Yes, and we are meeting someone in Markettown, as I told you. She may have helpful information.” Herne looked down at her as they walked along the dirt path. “Heed me in this town, Keelie. If rogue goblins are here, you, more than any, will be in peril. Your humanity is like a beacon.”

  “Of course. That makes sense.” Keelie hesitated. “I wonder, though. You said you would help heal the rift, and you’re friendly with the dwarves … so why can’t you and the dwarves just join with the elves?” She figured she’d leave the High Court out of the conversation until later.

  “The elves trust no fae, not even the Green Man, who shares their love of nature.” Herne cut his eyes over to her. “Doesn’t your own elven grandmother distrust the fae?”

  Keelie reddened. “She doesn’t trust anybody. Believe me, it’s an issue.”

  “How do you feel about that?”

  “What do you expect me to say? I have fae blood, too,” Keelie said. “It’s in me, and I can make up my own mind. But my family knows that I’m stubborn and opinionated.”

  “Linsa was like that. You remind me of her.” Herne stared toward the darkness, lost in thought.

  “I hope I don’t hurt your feeling by asking, but if she was murdered, why isn’t anyone looking for her killer?”

  “I know who killed her,” Herne said. “A goblin wizard has arisen who gathers power as he seeks to usurp my throne. I don’t know who he is, but he will reveal himself, and I will be waiting for him.”

  Keelie reeled. “Just like that? You’ll wait? You’re fae. You’re immortal. It could take centuries.”

  “I
can wait.” He smiled at her. “Your human side is showing. You’re so impatient.”

  “Maybe I can hear that big clock ticking,” Keelie retorted. “I’m so sorry Linsa died.”

  “Thank you. We thought we had forever. We always pursued our own interests and spent time apart because we thought it kept the relationship fresh. We didn’t want to take one another for granted. Tread lightly with Sean, Keelie. You will live as long or longer than he, and you must be certain of your choices.”

  Keelie looked up at Herne, astounded by this revelation.

  “Ah, we’re here.” He stopped before a huge arched doorway studded with silver nailheads. No iron here. He opened the door and entered. “Now we’ll find out about our rogue goblins.”

  Keelie started to follow him, still thinking about what he’d said to her. She was destined to live as long as Sean. It could have been bluster—or perhaps the Green Man, the King of the Dark Fae, knew something about her that she didn’t know.

  Her heart rushed with hope. Death had taken so much from her, and she’d been resigned to living a normal human span even though her father and other relatives would live for centuries more. If life was dealing her a better hand of cards, she would joyfully accept them. Maybe she wouldn’t be immortal, but she would be happy with hundreds of years to learn, to be, and to love.

  Most importantly, she could freely love Sean. She’d held back, thinking it was unfair to ask for love when her own life would be so brief. Now she’d only have to worry about Sean loving her in return.

  Still abuzz with Herne’s revelation, Keelie stepped into the shop. She was immediately assaulted by familiar animal shrieks, growls, and howls, and the indescribable smells of dozens of unusual creatures. She was somehow back in the familiar shop from the Quicksilver Faire, or else its twin. A slimy hand reached out and touched her hair. She shoved the hand away and faced its owner, a blue-furred monkey wearing a jester’s suit.

  Keelie stared at its eyes, wondering if it was Peascod in animal form, but it had soulful, purple eyes.