The Autumn Castle

by Kim Wilkins

  “Mayfridh, you’ve made life so much more complicated for all of us.”

  Mayfridh snatched her hand away from Christine’s. “That’s not true. How can that be true? If anything, it makes things easier for you because you don’t have to lie.”

  The door opened and Jude stood there, his eyes mistrustful. “Christine?”

  Christine ran her hand through her hair. “I’ll talk to you later, Mayfridh.”

  “Hey, Mayfridh.” This was Pete, beckoning to her. “Come and tell us more stuff about faeries.”

  Mayfridh glanced from him to Christine and smiled sheepishly.

  “Popular all of a sudden?” Christine said.

  “The novelty’s bound to wear off.”

  “Go on. I’m going to bed.”

  Mayfridh entered Gerda’s apartment, leaving Jude and Christine on the landing together.

  “Bed?” he said.

  “Yes, please.”

  They lay for long silent moments awake, then finally Jude spoke. “I was still worried,” he said, “even when I knew where you were.”

  “I was safe. I was with Eisengrimm.” She frowned as she thought about the dungeons, but he couldn’t see in the dark.

  He hesitated before answering. “Christine . . . I want you to be happy, but I also want you to be safe. I also want you to be where I can look after you if you need me.”

  “I’m safe in Ewigkreis.”

  “You don’t know that for sure. We don’t even know if we can trust Mir . . . sorry, Mayfridh.”

  “She’s really sweet, I’ve known her since I was a child.” What would she do if he stopped her from going back? She had so little time.

  “We know nothing about her, or her kind. Until two hours ago, Christine, I thought the only people who believed in faeries were children and madmen. There’s a lot for me to digest here.”

  “But, Jude, it’s so wonderful there. I feel no pain at all, I feel . . . like you feel every day.”

  He grew quiet, sighed deeply. “Christine, I can’t stop you going, not if it brings you so much relief. But Mayfridh said that one day soon faeryland will move on. There’s so much we don’t understand about her and her world. It frightens me. What if you’re stuck there? What if I lose you?”

  She didn’t answer, though she lay awake for a long time. Jude, she suspected, wasn’t sleeping either. Was he right? The way that time moved there, out of sync and unexpected . . . could she guarantee she wouldn’t be trapped in Ewigkreis, away from Jude forever? And was it hazardous to get used to the feeling of being pain-free, when it wasn’t real? For thirteen years she had assiduously taken every precaution to avoid addiction to her painkillers, and here she was, after only three doses, addicted to Ewigkreis.

  “I’ll try,” she said in the dark, not even sure if Jude could hear her, “I’ll do my best to go without it.”

  Mayfridh thought she was being so careful. That tiny gap between the bottom of the stairs and the foyer, the only place where Mandy could spy her, had been crossed with speed and success. But just as she was pulling open the door to the gray and yellow autumn day outside, he was standing there in front of her, key in hand.

  “Good morning, Miranda,” he said, baring a row of small round teeth. “I’ve been to fetch a paper. There is a review of our gallery party.”

  “I’ve got a train to catch,” she mumbled, head down, trying to push past him.

  “Would you like a lift somewhere? I can take you in my van.” He didn’t move so she had to brush against his belly.

  “I’m going to Zehlendorf. It’s a long way.”

  “It’s not too far.”

  “I’d rather . . . I don’t want to keep you from your work.”

  “Nonsense, the gallery doesn’t open until one o’clock. Please, allow me to drive you to Zehlendorf.”

  A door opened above, and Pete called down. “Mandy, is that you? What does the paper say about my installation?”

  Mayfridh slipped past Mandy and into the cool air outside. “Go on, Mandy, Pete needs you. I’m just as happy on the train.”

  “But . . .”

  Pete was coming down the stairs, hands reaching for the paper. “Come on, Mandy, I’m dying here. Did they like it?”

  Mayfridh hurried off, not looking back until she was at the end of the street. The door was closed, Mandy was gone. She realized she had been holding her breath, and let it go with a sigh. Alone with Mandy in a car? She’d sooner sit in the well with Hexebart.

  Mayfridh tried not to look like a confused foreigner standing in front of the Berlin train map at Friedrichstrasse Station, but finally asked an English-speaking passerby to help her find Zehlendorf Station, and show her how to use the ticket machine. Within minutes, she was off, changed trains with confidence at Zoo, and settled down for the journey to her mother’s house.

  Strange how she had already accepted her father must be gone. Why else would her mother list only her own initials? D. K. Frith. Diana Kathryn. No “J. M.” for James Matthew. Mayfridh realized she was jiggling her right leg so violently it was making the seat shake. She took deep breaths and told herself to be calm. Look how easy it had been to make all of Christine’s friends believe.

  Mayfridh watched as people got on and off the train, her mind so occupied with hopeful anxiety that she could barely distinguish between them—so distracted she nearly missed the stop. With apprehension, she stepped off the train.

  She could still find her way from the station to her old home. Everything had changed, but she had walked this street so many times with her parents, down to the bakery and the markets, past the church, around this corner and . . .

  There it was.

  The house was shut up tight; not like she had remembered it, with windows open and curtains fluttering in the breeze. Except at night, of course, when her bedroom window had to be checked and checked and checked a third time before her mother went to bed. The garden had once been open and bursting with hedges and flowers. Now the hedges were overgrown, guarding the door, creating shadow where there once was sunshine, thorns wreathing the gate, and grass growing over the cobbles.

  “Mother,” she said quietly, feeling her heart beating in every nerve. A swell of sadness. She crossed the road, opened the gate, walked up the path, lifted her hand.

  Knocked on the door.

  Moments passed. She waited.

  Finally, the door opened a crack. A thin, gray face peered out.

  “Hello? Diana?” Mayfridh said warily. This was her mother? This pinch-lipped, sad-eyed creature?

  The door swung inward. Diana Frith stepped back and stared at her.

  Mayfridh held out her hand and tried a smile. “Hello, this is probably unexpected but—”

  Suddenly, her mother’s eyes rolled back in her head and she slid to the floor in a faint.

  Mayfridh hastily made her way inside, knelt over the woman, and touched her face with frantic fingers. “What happened? Are you all right?”

  Diana’s eyes fluttered open. Her hand stole out to grasp Mayfridh’s, her fingers cold in her daughter’s warm palm. “Little May,” she said, “I knew you’d come back.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Diana served tea in the lounge room. Mayfridh assessed the threadbare sofa she sat on, and the chairs and the dining table, and recognized them all, faded and worn though they were, from her childhood.

  “Would you like sugar and milk?” Diana asked.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never drunk tea before.”

  Diana smiled and fiddled with the tea tray a moment longer, before handing her a cup. “Try this. It’s how I have it. Perhaps you’ll like it the same, as we’re family.”

  Mayfridh sipped the tea. Too sweet. “It’s perfect,” she said, wary of her mother’s fluttering anxiety. No need for a believe spell. Diana already believed it all.

  Diana sat opposite her and pulled her teacup and saucer into her lap.

  “Do you . . . live here alone?” Mayfridh asked.


  Her mother frowned. “I expect you’re wondering what’s happened to your father.”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s not dead. But he’s not here.”

  “Where is he?”

  Diana shook her head. “It’s such a long time since you disappeared. How old are you now? Twenty-five?”

  “Thirty-one. I’ve been gone nearly twenty-five years.”

  “Thirty-one. A grown woman!”

  Where Mayfridh came from, she was considered barely out of adolescence. “I suppose I am.”

  “But now you’re back. I knew you’d be back, just as soon as you could be.” Diana smiled, revealing stained teeth. The years had been unkind to her. The skin on her face was as dull and lined as old paper, her eyes gray and hooded. Her smile disturbed Mayfridh. Eisengrimm’s words were wiser by the moment. Your mother and father have suffered enough. Do not make them lose you twice.

  “How did you know I’d be back?” Mayfridh asked gently.

  “Because I prayed for it every day, and because God is kind to those who are patient.”

  “How did you know I’d been taken by faeries?”

  “Because I knew the faery who took you. Queen Liesebet.”

  “You knew my mother?” As soon as the question was loose, Mayfridh wanted to recall it. Diana’s face crumpled.

  “Yes. I expect you think of her as your mother now.”

  “She’s dead. Both my . . . faery parents are dead.”

  “Is that why you came to find me?”

  “I came to find you because I missed you,” Mayfridh replied, and it was the truth.

  Diana’s face glowed with pleasure. “As I missed you, dear child. As I missed you.”

  “Where is my father?”

  “Back in England. Married to a vet named Ruth. They have two teenagers, boys.”

  “He left you here?”

  “I chose to stay.”

  Mayfridh shook her head, setting her teacup on the table. “Mum, you’ll have to explain it all.”

  “About your father leaving?” she asked, with a furrow of her weary brow.

  “About me leaving. About Liesebet.”

  Diana dipped her head sadly. “Yes, yes, I should explain. I was careless, May. I didn’t mean to lose you.”

  “Of course not.” Then, when her mother remained silent, Mayfridh prompted her softly: “Go on.”

  Diana took a deep breath, leaned forward. “Do you know the reason your father and I brought you to Berlin?”

  Mayfridh shook her head.

  “Of course you don’t. You were too little. James was very ill, May. He was being eaten alive by stomach cancer. The doctors back in Maidstone had given up on him, told him to expect six months at the most.”

  Mayfridh was aghast. “How could I not have known this?”

  “We kept it from you. We protected you. We still hoped that he would live, and . . . we couldn’t tell you. What words would I have used? How much of your beautiful spark would I have extinguished by telling you? May, we tried for years to have you. And we tried for years after to have a brother or sister for you. But we were only blessed once. You were so precious, your smile kept your father’s spirits up. We couldn’t have told you, it would have ruined you.”

  “So you came to Berlin for Dad’s health?”

  “Yes. A doctor here was famed for his experimental cancer treatments and his promising success rate. James left the army, and we sold everything to move. At first, it was worth every penny, every trouble. You settled in quickly and found a friend next door, and James responded well to the treatment. For nearly six months, my heart lifted every day. Soon after, it began to sink again.

  “A routine test revealed the cancer had spread to his pancreas. The situation was dire.” Diana shook her head. “I believed it might be all over. You may remember this, May. You walked into our bedroom one Saturday morning, early. Your father was in pain and slept poorly, so we were often awake before the sun had risen. We were lying in each other’s arms, crying, and you came in and you took one look at us and started crying too.”

  Mayfridh nodded slowly. “Yes, I remember that.”

  “You were so distressed and you wouldn’t stop asking us what was wrong and if everything was all right. So James took you for a drive to—”

  “The pet shop! That was the day we bought Mabel.”

  “Yes, James bought you a puppy, hoping to take your mind off us. It appeared to work. You soon forgot seeing us crying, and your father was so cheered by your delight with Mabel that his pain eased for a week or so.

  “But I had so little hope left in me by this time. I had prayed and prayed, and my prayers had been ignored and time was running out. I was desperate; I was clinging to a thread, trying to be a good mother to you, a good wife to James. I was drowning.”

  Diana fell silent, and Mayfridh watched her for long moments; her deeply lined face, her dull gray hair, her cheerless eyes. Mayfridh said nothing, waiting. A clock ticked in the kitchen, a flat thin pulse in the dusty room.

  “One Wednesday afternoon,” Diana said slowly, raising her head again, “you were next door at the Starlights’ house, and I was vacuuming the carpet. I came downstairs to find your father motionless on the sofa. I thought the terrible moment was upon me, that he was dead. But no, there was the slow movement of his chest, and I found myself staring at him, imagining his breath stilled forever. The awful reality of his approaching mortality fell on me like a weight. The horror was so acute that I nearly screamed. I struggled to be free of it, but I was mercilessly trapped inside my mind and inside my body. James would die. Inescapable.

  “I had to do something. I couldn’t just stand there looking at him, losing my mind. I dropped the vacuum cleaner and I strode out of the room and to the door and out of the house and to the front gate where Mabel danced about my feet, thinking I was taking her to the park. I left her behind the gate, whimpering and yapping indignantly. I was a soul trapped in the electric moment of horror, and I walked away from the house and the street. A short time later, I found myself in the big park near your old kindergarten. I don’t know if you remember it?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “It was empty. The sun was close to setting, and people were in their homes, cooking their meals, watching their favorite television programs. Not another soul in sight. I sat on the grass and then collapsed forward, and I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.

  “I truly believe I would have kept crying, perhaps until my lungs burst, if it hadn’t been for the sound of a soft breath nearby. I gathered myself and looked up. Standing before me was a beautiful blond woman in a white sparkling robe, and her hair braided with white ribbon.”

  “Liesebet,” Mayfridh said, fondly remembering her faery mother. “She’d come from the Winter Castle.”

  “She came from nowhere. I hadn’t heard her approach. And the otherworldly smile on her face . . . May, I thought she was an angel. I thought God had sent me an angel.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She said, in hesitant German, ‘Tell me your woes, and it may be in my power to ease them.’” Diana smiled. “I’d hardly expected one of God’s angels to speak German. I always assumed they were British.”

  Mayfridh laughed. Outside, the clouds had parted and a weak ray of sunshine probed the window, lighting on a stained-glass bird hanging from the sill.

  Diana sighed and steepled her hands together. “I told her everything. While I spoke, she watched me with a very fixed and piercing gaze.”

  “I know that gaze,” Mayfridh said. Liesebet had possessed a special talent for mind-reading. In the moment Diana was describing, the faery queen had been pulling thoughts from her mind.

  “When I had finished, she said, ‘I will grant you your husband’s returned health, but in payment, you must promise to give me the first thing that greets you when you return home.’ I considered this for a few moments. You were with the Starlights intending to stay the night, James was asleep on the sofa, and
Mabel was waiting at the gate. Did I dare to promise her this payment?

  “‘I grow weary of waiting for your answer,’ she said. ‘Do you agree to the terms of payment?’

  “I nodded. I said, ‘Yes,’ and she smiled and told me that my husband would be well very soon, but that I must return to her at the same time the next day to pay her. I agreed, and I ran home. I ran through the park and down the main road and up our street and . . . and I saw movement near the gate of the Starlights’ house and began to panic. I knew I needed to get home while Mabel was still waiting, before I saw you or James or the Starlights’ little girl, Christine, or anyone but the dog. Then I saw you . . . you were coming home to fetch your favorite teddy. I saw the back of your head. You hadn’t seen me yet, and I began to sprint, to get to the gate and the puppy before you turned around.

  “Just as I reached the edge of our garden, you turned. You saw me. You smiled and put your arms out and you ran toward me and grabbed me around the hips and said, ‘Hello, Mummy, where have you been?’” Diana’s eyes had filled with tears. One of them spilled over and ran down her dry cheek, pausing on the tip of her chin. “Dear child, you weren’t to know.”

  Mayfridh listened, entranced.

  “I bundled you inside, and I promised myself that I wouldn’t give you up, that I would find a way to keep you. I even started to think that perhaps the woman in the park was ordinary and mad and the agreement with her meant nothing. But before that evening was over, color returned to James’s cheek and his appetite grew, and he declared he was feeling very well, and I knew that the angel was real and that James would recover.

  “I didn’t sleep that night, though James slept soundly next to me. I decided that I would take Mabel to the park the next afternoon. The puppy was all I intended to give away, and that would be the end of it. The woman in white hadn’t seen me. She couldn’t know that you were the first thing that greeted me.” She paused, her lip caught between her teeth. “Foolish, I suppose.”

  “Liesebet knew,” Mayfridh said softly.

  “Oh yes, she knew. Yes, I understand that now. I returned to the park with the puppy, and sat in the same spot and waited for her. She arrived moments later, this time with a crow perched on her forearm as though it were a pet, a splash of black against her dazzling white dress. She wore such a look of triumph and disdain that I started to suspect she wasn’t an angel at all, but something vastly different.