Faerie Tale

by Raymond Feist

  Gabbie said, “If I concentrate, I can.… It’s weird, but it’s like I can barely remember a movie I saw a long time ago, or … a dream I had when I was a kid.”

  Gary said, “It’s more than weird. It’s damn near impossible. From what little I know about assaults and rape, you should have everything that happened etched in your memory in vivid detail—or be in a classic denial, blanking it out.” He sipped his drink. “Mark was subject to the same thing.” He explained what happened the night Mark and Gary chased the assailant into the woods, and how Mark couldn’t remember without listening to the tape recording he’d made, until Gary hypnotized him to remember. Looking at Jack he said, “How’s your shoulder?”

  Jack seemed surprised by the question. “Fine.… Which shoulder?”

  “Your right, the one that was infected.”

  Jack whistled low. He looked at the others. “Damn, me too.”

  “Mark … palmed some sort of odd little dart.… The doctor thought it was a bone chip, he told me.”

  Gloria’s agitation was obvious. “Gary, what are you saying? That we’ve got some sort of crazy people hiding in the woods out there? Who rape and shoot poisoned darts and … shit, what?”

  Gary added, “I don’t know if I should be telling you this … but … damn it, if Mark doesn’t … come back, I don’t want to deal with this by myself. Mark didn’t just see a kid in the woods that night.” He told them what he had heard on the tape, and what Mark had confided in him after hypnosis.

  All sat stunned by the description of the riders in the woods. Aggie was the first to speak. In even tones she said, “Gary, it’s impossible.”

  “If I hadn’t been sitting there watching Mark when he heard the tape, saw his reaction, well, I’d agree the whole thing was impossible. I’ve given a lot of thought to this, Aggie; either Mark saw the impossible. Or”—he paused—“his mind was controlled.”

  Gabbie said, “Maybe riders did come through”—her voice trailed off—“in costume?”

  Aggie said, “Girl, what Mark described is the Wild Hunt.”

  Phil said, “Aggie?”

  “It’s a legend. The riders of the Wild Hunt ride the woods at night, chasing those who … are evil, or who have offended the riders, or—depending on the version of the legend—just happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  Phil said, “What is this?” His voice held a nervous laugh, as if all this was passing beyond his ability to understand. “Some sort of Irish Ku Klux Klan?”

  Aggie’s voice showed she was disturbed. “Philip, the riders are Daonie Sidhe—the Old People, fairies.” Phil blinked. “Their leader is a creature with the head of a wild stag. They ride horses no mortal may mount. It’s an Irish fairy legend.”

  “That’s impossible,” said Jack.

  “Dad,” said Gabbie softly, “remember the tapestry? It shows those riders and some of the … game hanging from poles is people.”

  Phil shook his head. “I’ll buy some sort of nut group dressing up and pretending this stuff … maybe. Even that Kessler and his bunch were run out of Germany for being found out as a gang of religious terrorists—but what’s this all got to do with Gabbie’s assault and Mark’s encounter?”

  Gary looked defeated. “I just don’t know. Mostly because I don’t know what Mark’s doing in Germany. He’s been unusually closemouthed about what he believes. I can sort of put two and two together because of what he’s had me doing.” He sighed. “All I can say is there is strong evidence that there are people around today who are still involved with what Kessler was involved with eighty years ago.

  “Suppose this secret group Kessler and Van der Leer were members of was privy to some secret of mind control—just play along for a minute—which makes them cause people to forget … or gives them the power to cause people to see visions. Maybe someone else besides the Shadow has the power to cloud men’s minds.” Gary’s voice rose at the last, frustration clearly evident. He forced himself back to calmness. “Sorry, I’m beat. Look, if such a group once did exist, and they did have some unusual power, it explains why they can still be around, still thrive even, without anyone else knowing they’re active.

  “Assume there’s nothing supernatural about it at all. Suppose for a moment Phil’s right, and it’s a group of people dressed up and riding around and there’s some rational explanation for the weird qualities Mark attributed to them. Maybe they used a drug on Mark and Gabbie—there was certainly some sort of fast-acting drug on the dart they shot Jack with, from what Mark told me. You’re still left with the fact there’s a bunch of pretty strange jokers getting dressed up and riding around the countryside at night, doing their best to imitate something out of Celtic myth. That’s what Mark had me digging around in before you guys found the stuff in the basement, by the way. He’s had me generate pages of notes on Celtic legends and later Irish and Scottish myth. Anyway, maybe we’ve run afoul of Kessler’s group, and this stuff is just window dressing. But until we understand who they are, what they’re doing, we don’t have a clue about what we’re dealing with. Mark knew more about this, but he’s … gone. It’s clear, though, that what happened in Germany at the turn of the century is happening again here, if to a lesser degree.” He was silent for a minute. “And from what I experienced in Canada, I think someone’s trying to prevent outsiders from discovering what they’re up to.”

  Gabbie put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, Gary, you’re really scaring me now.”

  “I’m scared too, Gabbie. This is so weird. Weirder than most of the stuff we usually mess with. And it’s getting harder to understand what we’re into as we dig deeper. The more I uncover, the less I know. I just wish I knew where Mark was.” Gary closed his eyes and rubbed them. With a shake of his head, he said, “Well, now that I’ve made everybody’s day, I could use some sleep. So I think I’ll be off.”

  “Won’t you stay and eat something?” asked Phil. “We’ve a ham in the oven.”

  “Thanks, but no. I’m not hungry and I really do need a nap. Besides, if I know Ellen, she’ll want to come by and fix something, considering I’ve been gone all but three days the last month. Give me a day to get it together, then I’ll drop by again. And let me know how things are with Patrick.”

  They all stood. Good-byes were made, and as Gary left, Sean appeared at the doorway, inquiring about dinner. Aggie herded him down the hall to the kitchen for a snack to hold him over, while Gabbie said, “That was some business. It’s pretty scary stuff all right.”

  Jack nodded. “And there’s still Kessler’s gold. Maybe that’s what they’re after.”

  “Could be,” said Gabbie. “Maybe they don’t know we’ve already found it, and are trying to scare us off so they can look for it themselves.”

  Phil said, “Well, that’s the first theory that makes some sense. If it is Kessler’s old buddies looking for the gold, that would certainly explain away everything—a hallucinogenic dust, and costumes. ’Cause, until I see one of these fairies, Kessler’s mysterious colleagues make a lot more sense. But I think I’ll withhold judgment, because even that’s a little too strange for me. As weird as all this conjecture is, I still think the truth will prove a whole lot simpler than ancient secret societies with mysterious mind powers.”

  Gloria came to Phil’s side and put her arms around him. Softly she said, “No. It all fits together somehow. We’re just not seeing how the pieces mesh. And it has something to do with Patrick—”

  Phil cut her off, afraid of her becoming too emotional again. “Honey, this is the twentieth century, to coin a cliché. We’re not sitting atop an ancient shrine to Cthulhu, after all. What we’ve got is some gold and strange stuff left over from an odd old immigrant from Germany, and”—his voice softened—“a tragic illness. That’s plenty for now.” He hugged her tight, then in lighter tone said, “Look, maybe you ought to take Sean out to the Coast and visit your mother?” The last two days had been pretty rugged for them all, but Gloria and Sean see
med to be getting the worst of it. The shock of seeing Patrick had made her hysterical for hours, and while she’d gotten a hold of herself, the strain showed. And Sean had become moody and withdrawn.

  Gloria didn’t hesitate as she said, “No. Thanks for the offer, but … I want to stay close, and it wouldn’t be good for Sean. Let’s try to keep things as normal around here as possible.”

  “Okay, if you’re sure. For now I think I’ll go and catch a few minutes of the news on the tube. Join me?”

  With a halfhearted smile, Gloria nodded and went with Phil to the parlor. At the door he paused and said, “Jack, in all this craziness, I’ve forgotten to ask. What about your orals?”

  Jack winced. “Tomorrow afternoon at three. I was going to postpone—”

  “But I wouldn’t let him,” said Gabbie.

  Gloria smiled a half-sad smile. “Good for you, kid. Well, good luck, Jack.”

  Phil echoed the wish as they left the room.

  Gabbie looked at Jack. “That thing about the assault was weird.”

  “You really forgot?”

  “All of it. If Gary or you or someone hadn’t mentioned it, I think I might never have remembered. And even now I’ve got to work at remembering.”

  “It’s creepy. I have to work at remembering just how messed up my shoulder got.”

  “What do you think of all this?”

  “I don’t know. Gary was talking some pretty weird-sounding stuff. Maybe your dad’s right. Maybe there’s a rational explanation behind everything.” He stood up. With a theatrical sigh he said, “Look, I’m going to have to do some last-minute cramming for my exams. I could use a little coaching, if you don’t mind.”

  Gabbie took his hand. “Later—tonight.” She stood and her expression brightened. “Right now I want a quiet walk with my fella. Let’s stroll down the road. This is the first non-wet day I’ve seen in a week, and it’s not too cold.”

  Jack smiled. “That sounds just about right.”

  Tugging on his hand, she led him through the kitchen. With a quick promise to Aggie they’d be back in time to help with dinner, they headed out toward the road for an evening walk. Aggie watched them leave while Sean silently ate half of a peanut butter sandwich. Behind the everyday tableau, she sensed something terrible was approaching and felt a chill rising in her chest.

  For a moment Aggie stood silently, then sensed Sean’s eyes upon her. She fought back the urge to shiver, pushing down the sense of impending trouble, and forced her mind back to the concerns of the moment. She had a family to feed.

  Sean watched Jack and Gabbie leave and turned his attention to the sandwich. Absently he wondered what Patrick was having for dinner with the—He dropped his sandwich on the plate as his eyes widened. With the.… For a moment he had understood something, then that knowledge had fled. He sat quietly for a long minute as his heart raced, trying in vain to recapture what he had grasped for only an instant. He waited a long minute, hoping for the thought to return. When it didn’t, he sighed and picked up his sandwich, eating it halfheartedly as he considered that Patrick was being fed off a plastic plate at the hospital. But he couldn’t shake the image of something dark yet shining in a corner. At last he put the half-eaten sandwich down and left the kitchen.

  20

  Phil stuck his head into the kitchen, informing his wife and son he was on his way back to the hospital. Gloria nodded as the door swung closed behind him. Phil maintained a degree of normalcy in his outward behavior, keeping everyone on an even keel.

  Phil got in his car and turned the key. The engine rattled to life fitfully, despite having been run earlier in the day. Overdue for a tune-up, he thought absently. As he pulled out of the drive and turned onto the road, he considered the toll Patrick’s illness was having on every one. For the last two days Gabbie had taken to fixing Sean’s breakfast and lunch and seeing the house stayed in order, as Gloria barely managed dinner with Aggie’s help. Despite his preoccupation with Patrick, Phil was concerned over Gloria’s mental state. He didn’t know how to cope with it; the last week had left him too emotionally exhausted to make any rational judgment. He knew that under more normal circumstances, his wife would have been constantly at Patrick’s side. But she couldn’t deal with this odd creature who was once Patrick. And Phil knew she felt guilty over not going back to the hospital. Maybe when they got him moved, to a long-term care facility, or even if they could bring him home again someday.… He let the last thought trail off.

  Phil knew that somewhere down the line Gloria would need some sort of help. She moved like a zombie half the time, or she sat around staring off into the distance. If anyone spoke to her she seemed to snap out of the mood, but as soon as she was alone she withdrew into herself again. She fell asleep about eight-thirty and slept the clock round, unless she woke up screaming from dreams. Often her shouts awoke Sean, and he would be brought in to sleep with his parents. It was almost as if Sean awakened at the same instant. For a moment Phil considered that. He shrugged off the thought. But until something concrete occurred—until Patrick’s fate was decided—Phil, like the others, simply held his breath and waited. As he increased the car’s speed, he remembered he hadn’t said good-bye to Sean. Pushing aside a twinge of guilt, Phil turned the car onto the highway toward the hospital.

  21

  Gloria absently washed the dishes, staring out the window, unaware of the quiet boy who sat at the table. Gloria was silently desperate. She couldn’t talk of Patrick without tears, and the few visits to the hospital had been more than she could endure. Her near phobia about illness, joined with her pain for her son, was pushing her beyond her ability to cope. In her own private world there was a blank space once filled by a boy named Patrick. No one in the family said anything about her reluctance to go to the hospital. Had Patrick been physically sick she would have stayed at his side. But that unspeakable thing he had become, that miasma of … the unholy … about him caused her to feel more than grief. There was a darkness surrounding Patrick, an aura not of the normal world. Despite her emotional confusion, Gloria struggled to remember; there was something everyone else was missing, something she had seen. And if she could only remember it, Patrick would return to her. She was frustrated to the point of anger by her inability to remember, and her short temper was making everyone tiptoe around her. She vaguely heard Sean putting down his glass of breakfast milk and returned her attention to the dishes.

  Sean was in a pout because his mother wouldn’t let him go outside or to Saturday night’s Halloween Party. He really didn’t want to go to the party, he just didn’t want to be sitting around alone—missing Patrick. He hadn’t assimilated his experiences the night he and Patrick had been taken to the hospital; something clouded his memory, making things dim and hard to handle. Yet he was on the verge of understanding. Holding the fairy stone seemed to help. And each day it seemed he could recall the images faster, and they were more clear. He had given up trying to get anyone to understand about the images. They just wouldn’t listen. They just didn’t understand. Sean sighed silently.

  He gripped the fairy stone in his fist and stared at it. There was something he could remember about the night Patrick got so sick. It was a vague shape in darkness, something that hovered at the edge of memory, something that had reached out and—

  Sean’s eyes opened wide as his heart leaped. He remembered! The Shining Man! And the thing that looked like Sean! The Shining Man and the Bad Thing had taken Patrick! Sean squirmed in his chair, his agitation unnoticed by his mother. He had to do something; he just wasn’t sure what it was. And he couldn’t do it cooped up at home. He had to get some help, and he knew where he might be able to find it. Sean pushed aside the half-eaten sandwich and said, “Mom, can I go outside?”

  “No!”

  Sean jumped at the vehemence of her answer. She looked at Sean through tired eyes and softened her tone. “No, honey. You’ve been sick.” She thought it best not to say anything about what Gary had told them. But sh
e wasn’t going to let Sean anywhere near the woods.

  “But, Mom.…” Sean began, but then his mother turned to face him, and he saw a new Look, one that frightened him. She knew! Or at least she suspected. On some level, conscious or subconscious, she had decided that one son lost was enough. Sean knew any revelation to his mother of what he remembered would only increase her resistance to letting him out. He ceased his complaint and quit the kitchen, finding his way to the parlor, where he resigned himself to another round of Saturday cartoons or sports on TV while he puzzled out a means of getting away. Maybe he could go to bed early, then sneak out after Mom went to sleep. He sat back on the floor, his back against a chair, and used the remote control to turn on the TV. He used the satellite dish controls to lock in on a college football game. He didn’t care who was playing.

  Less than an hour later, Gabbie stuck her head in and asked, “What are you doing hanging around here, kiddo? It’s a beautiful day outside, Indian summer.”

  Considering his reply, Sean said, “I was just watching this game.” Casually he stood and turned off the TV. “Where’s Mom?”

  “Taking a nap. Why?”

  He shrugged. “Nothing. I’m going to the park, okay? The guys are going to play touch.”

  Gabbie almost said no, thinking about Gary’s conjecture, but she remembered he’d said all the odd goings-on took place after sundown. “Sure, just be back before it starts to get dark.”

  “Sure. I’ll be back early.” He waved a casual good-bye and exited through the kitchen, then out the back porch door. As soon as his sneakers hit the ground, he was off at a dead run. He sprinted through the woods, reaching the Troll Bridge in record time. He paused to catch his breath and felt the evil aura that signaled the presence of the Bad Thing under the bridge. He removed his fairy stone from beneath his shirt and clutched it tightly. With resolution he marched across the bridge. Once across the creek, he felt a giddy sense of accomplishment. As he looked back at the bridge, a clear remembrance and certainty descended upon him. It was his responsibility to help Patrick. Not his father’s, or his mother’s, or the doctor’s. None of them knew what the boys had endured, and none were willing to listen. Whatever caused people to be the way they were when kids tried to explain things was working overtime now. Even Sean’s dad, who normally took time to listen, seemed unable to consider for a moment his son’s confused attempts to describe what happened that night. Now that Sean could tell him exactly, he knew his father still wouldn’t allow for a moment that what the boy said might have some foundation in truth.