The Faerie Path

by Frewin Jones

  The lights were much brighter in here. There was a row of sinks opposite the toilet stalls. Over each sink was a square mirror.

  She felt suddenly dizzy and grabbed the edge of a sink to stop herself from falling. It felt like there were whirlwinds spinning through her body. She closed her eyes. Now it felt as if she was moving at enormous speed, racing through the air, breathless and unable to stop.

  She opened her eyes, gasping.

  She reached for a tap, needing a splash of cold water on her face.

  As she touched the tap, an arc of blue fire flared from her fingertips and a fizzing, burning pain shot up to her shoulder. She let out a cry, cradling her arm against herself.

  And then a pain hit her that blotted out everything else. She screamed as two bolts of intense agony stabbed her in the back. The pain dragged downward, as if someone was slashing her shoulder blades with razors.

  She fell to her knees, doubled over.

  Something pushed against the back of her pajama top.

  There was a tearing sound.

  There was something growing on her back—two things that flexed and expanded like the opening of long-fingered hands.

  The pain wasn’t like scalpels digging into her flesh now—it was like when she had sat with her legs curled up under her for too long. The exquisitely unbearable feeling of pins and needles as the blood begins to course again. Except that it wasn’t in a leg—it was in something else.

  Anita was on her hands and knees on the floor, her limbs folded under her, her head in her arms, her eyes tightly shut.

  And she could feel these things—these two unbelievable growths that had sprouted from her back. They were unfolding and spreading and expanding.

  She lay huddled on the cold floor for several minutes, too scared to move, almost too scared to breathe. Gradually the discomfort faded and the fear loosened its grip on her.

  She lifted her head.

  Strange new muscles flexed on her back and she felt the air stir. She drew herself up onto her hands and knees. There was no pain now. Grasping the rim of the sink, she pulled herself to her feet.

  She turned to face the mirror.

  “What the…?”

  There was her face—her familiar face, ash pale now with shock, gazing in utter disbelief out of the glass. And there, lifting high behind her shoulders, was a pair of iridescent gossamer-light wings.

  Anita stared at them. They were so beautiful and fine and delicate, stretching behind her like the wings of a dragonfly. She flexed her shoulders and the wings quivered, changing color constantly as the harsh yellow light struck them.

  “I’ve got wings…” she breathed. Her face split into a wide, radiant smile as the wings beat faster, whipping her hair around her face.

  She saw her reflection rise in the mirror and felt the rim of the sink fall away from her hands. She looked down and saw that her feet had lifted clear of the floor.

  As easy as a feather floating on the breeze, she glided toward the window. It was closed and locked, but when she touched the lock with her fingertips, it clicked open and the window sprang wide.

  Cool night air wafted over her.

  Without thinking what she was doing, Anita dived headfirst through the window and soared up into the clear night sky.

  She looked down at the lights of the city. They twinkled and sparkled beneath her, lovely but somehow remote, like things seen from an airplane. Cars moved in ribbons on the canyon streets—ribbons of white and ribbons of red. She could see necklaces of light framing the sinuous shape of the River Thames. Bridges cut across the indigo water, lit up like party decorations. Boats shone and shimmered, casting their shattered images down onto the inky river.

  Anita spread her arms, lifting her face to the stars and to the slender crescent moon, arching her back as she flew higher.

  “I’m flying!” she screamed.

  As a child, she had often dreamed of flying. Small dreams of swishing through the treetops and of grazing the chimney—swooping and diving while her friends watched her, breathless with envy.

  And the weirdest thing of all was that now it was really happening, it didn’t feel the least bit strange.

  The night wind fluttered through her pajamas and tugged at her hair as she pirouetted above the rooftops.

  “I must look like an angel,” she said aloud. She spun and dived, gazing down as she swooped low over the streets.

  Can anyone see me?

  She waved. “Hey! Up here!”

  But no one was looking up into the sky.

  She frowned. “How am I going to explain this to Mum?”

  The world below her rippled like a reflection when a stone is dropped into black water. The streets and buildings of the city wavered and trembled and then, in an instant, all the lights of London went out.

  For a moment Anita was so startled that she forgot to beat her wings.

  She fell halfway to the ground before she remembered to fly again. She brought her new muscles into play, her wings scooping the air. The action felt as natural as moving an arm or a leg, and she seemed instinctively to understand how to angle her body to get lift and balance.

  The city had gone!

  The stars still glittered above her, but below her there was only a deep empty darkness.

  Beating her wings, Anita wheeled around to look at the round face of the full moon.

  It had not been like that before. The moon over London had been just a sliver—a new moon on its second or third night.

  But now it was full, and so close that she could see the shadows that scarred its white face.

  She looked down, her eyes adjusting to the shadows.

  The River Thames still looped and coiled its way through the land. But the bright lights of London had vanished. And the night seemed less dark—it was more of a blue-gray twilight, rich and deep and sleepy.

  On the northern banks of the river lay a vast palace. She looked down on turrets and keeps and gatehouses and courtyards, on towers and battlements and colonnades that seemed to stretch on forever. And there were bridges over the river, and more clusters of buildings that hugged the south bank. And beyond them, there was a dark, dense forest.

  Fascinated, Anita glided lower, drawn toward the points of light that glowed here and there, like candles flickering in glassless windows.

  But as she came closer, she saw that many of the walls and buildings were smashed and broken. Troubled, she swooped over the river. She came to a bridge, but it was half destroyed, its arches all fallen down into ruin. Hunks of masonry jutted out of the black water like jagged teeth.

  She flew over the palace. The roofs of great halls were slumped and cracked, the soaring towers torn open and hollowed out.

  It was as if warfare had passed over the land and left only decay and desolation.

  Tears pricked Anita’s eyes. It shouldn’t be like this.

  This was not how she remembered it.

  “No!” She turned and flew back up into the twilight sky. “No!”

  There should have been lights—thousands of blazing lights, each outdoing the other to banish every shadow. There should have been music and laughter and dancing and singing. There should have been barges and launches and wherries on the river.

  There should be life!

  But as she soared skyward, with tears flooding down her cheeks and a sense of wrenching loss in her heart, she felt the strength fading from her wings.

  The muscles seemed to waste away on her back. She glanced in alarm over her shoulder: The rainbow-colored gauze of her wings had become dull, and the glorious gossamer spread was shriveling and withering.

  And even as she looked, the wings shredded and fell away from her back.

  She clawed the air in terror, tried to remember which muscles she had flexed to lift her.

  But she no longer had the power of flight.

  Her wings were gone.

  Turning over and over in the air, she plunged earthward like a stone.
r />   III

  “Anita? Come on, dear—up you get.”

  She felt chilled to the bone. She was sprawled face down on a cold, hard surface.

  Gentle but strong hands lifted her and turned her so that she was sitting up.

  She opened her eyes. The night nurse was crouched at her side, holding her shoulders. She was back in the hospital bathroom.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “You fainted, Anita,” said the nurse. “Can you stand on your own, or should I call someone?”

  “No, I think I can get up.” Using the nurse’s shoulder as a support, Anita got to her feet.

  “You should have called someone if you were feeling giddy,” said the nurse, looking closely at her.

  “I didn’t,” Anita said. She blinked, still woolly-headed. “Feel giddy, I mean. How long have I been in here?”

  “Ten minutes at most,” said the nurse. “You seemed to be taking a long time, so I came to check. Do you still need to go?”

  “Sorry?”

  The nurse nodded toward the stalls.

  Anita shook her head. She twisted her head to look at the window. It was closed and locked.

  She let out a breath of astonished laughter.

  It had been so real.

  She glanced at herself in the mirror.

  No wings.

  Of course not. Are you out of your mind?

  “Let’s get you back to bed,” said the nurse. She put an arm around Anita’s back. “What’s happened here?” she exclaimed, drawing back. “You’ve made a real mess of your pajama top.”

  Anita stiffened. “What do you mean?”

  “There are two long tears,” said the nurse, running her finger down the ripped fabric. “What a shame. You must have done it when you fell over.”

  Anita looked at the nurse. “That’s where my wings came through,” she said.

  The nurse gazed quizzically at her. “Well, that would certainly explain it,” she said. “Shall we get you back to bed?”

  “Is there anything on my back?”

  The nurse smiled. “You don’t have wings, if that’s what you mean.”

  “No. Anything. Red marks.”

  The nurse opened the tears in the top and examined her back. “There’s nothing there,” she reported. “Clean as a whistle.”

  Anita turned and looked into her eyes. “What’s it like when you go insane?” she asked softly.

  The nurse studied her for a long moment. “You’ve had quite a rough day,” she said. “Come on, let’s get you back to bed.” She guided Anita out of the bathroom and across to her bed.

  Anita held her gaze. “Will you tell me the truth about something?”

  “Certainly, if I can,” the nurse said.

  “Is Evan going to be all right?”

  The nurse gave her a thoughtful look. “The doctors are a bit puzzled that he hasn’t woken up yet,” she admitted finally. “He’s had a CT scan and there’s nothing wrong that they can see.”

  “A CT scan?”

  “It means that they’ve had a good look at his brain. It’s working fine, as far as they can tell, but he doesn’t seem to want to wake up just yet.”

  Anita swallowed. “I heard somewhere that the longer a person is in a coma, the more chance there is for something to go wrong inside their head.”

  “That’s generally true,” the nurse agreed. “But your boyfriend isn’t in a coma. He’s just fast asleep.” She smiled. “He could wake up at any minute.”

  “Really?”

  The nurse nodded. “Really.” She drew back the sheets for Anita to climb into bed. “It’s your birthday today, isn’t it? We found something among Evan’s things you might like to see. Just wait a moment.”

  She was gone for less than a minute. She came back with a small package in her hand. She drew the curtains around Anita’s bed and switched on the over-bed light.

  The package was wrapped in red paper and there was a gift tag attached.

  For Anita. Wishing you the very happiest of birthdays. Love, Evan.

  “He must have meant to give this to me yesterday,” Anita said quietly, turning the package over in her hands. “Maybe I should wait until he wakes up before I open it.”

  “Oh, I don’t think he’d mind,” the nurse said. “Go on, open it.”

  Anita carefully peeled off the sticky tape and unfolded the scarlet wrapping paper. Inside was a black box. She lifted the lid and opened layers of white tissue.

  Just when she was beginning to think the box was empty, she saw a pendant nestled in the tissue paper, suspended from a fine chain that looked as if it had been made from spun glass. The pendant was shaped like a long-tailed teardrop, amber in color and as lustrous as a pearl.

  Anita bit her lip. She drew the chain up and lifted the pendant from the box. It hung heavy in the air, glowing with light.

  “Well, isn’t that lovely,” said the nurse.

  “Yes,” Anita whispered. “It’s absolutely beautiful.”

  She raised her arm, bringing the pendant closer to her face. Deep in the heart of the amber teardrop, she could see a leaf of dark light that moved like a trapped flame.

  “Could you help me put it on?”

  She leaned forward and the nurse closed the clasp at the back of her neck. The pendant was warm against her skin. Anita felt a desperate, urgent need to be with Evan—even if only for a few seconds.

  “I have to thank him, even if he can’t hear me,” she pleaded. “Can I go and sit with him? Just for a minute or two?”

  “In the morning you can,” the nurse said. “He might even be up and about himself by then.” She smiled down at Anita. “Now then, get some sleep.”

  Anita settled back into the pillows, one hand cradling the pendant. The nurse arranged the sheets around her shoulders. “Press the button if you need me.” She switched off the light and slipped through the curtains.

  Anita’s eyes began to close, her eyelids suddenly as heavy as lead.

  Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I should say good night till it be morrow.

  Anita awoke into the same quiet darkness. Her fingers still held the amber pendant. She smiled. Evan’s lovely gift. She reached out and felt for her watch on the bedside table. The luminous dial showed that it was only five thirty in the morning, but she felt oddly awake and alert.

  She drew herself up and switched on the over-bed lamp. A bright pool of light flooded down onto her.

  She didn’t know what to think about the previous night. About the wings and all that. It was all quite crazy. Except she didn’t feel as if she was going crazy. Surely she’d be able to tell?

  She leaned over and picked up her new book from the bedside table. She rested it in her lap, stroking the supple leather. As soon as she got herself a good pen, she was going to write down everything she could remember about her flight. It didn’t matter whether or not it was real—it had been totally amazing.

  She opened the front cover. The ivory-colored pages were thick and textured like cloth. She ran her hand over the paper.

  She turned the first crisp, heavy leaf.

  The last time she had looked, the page had been quite blank, she was absolutely certain of that; but now the page held lines of clear, dark writing printed in an ornate, gothic script.

  Faeries tread the faerie path

  Amber-trapped though moth-wing light they be

  Mortals stay in mortal world

  Iron-clad with half-blind eyes they see

  One alone will walk both worlds

  Daughter last of daughters seven

  With her true love by her side

  Honest hand in true love given

  Anita had no idea what the words meant, but they sounded Shakespearean.

  She felt strangely distracted and remote from reality. “I must be dreaming again,” she murmured. “Just like last night.”

  Smiling, she turned the page.

  There was more writing. A lot mo
re.

  On this day was born Princess Tania, the seventh daughter of our glorious King Oberon and our blessed Queen Titania. And the bells rang out throughout the Realm at the joyful news.

  It sounded like a fairy story, yet it was written in archaic, flowery language that a child would struggle to understand. A fairy story for grown-ups, perhaps?

  Frowning, Anita read on. There were long descriptions of celebrations and visits by important people and endless domestic details about the first few days of the baby’s life. The writing began to swim in front of her eyes. Anita yawned and her hand slipped off the book. She was shaken back into wakefulness as the pages began to turn on their own. As she watched, her eyes wide in alarm, the book settled into stillness a few dozen pages on, where a new chapter started.

  Upon the eve of her sixteenth birthday, Princess Tania prepared herself for her marriage to the young Lord Gabriel Drake of Caer Liel in Weir. She was glad and joyful, for he was high-born and handsome and filled with grace.

  That sounded more interesting. Anita settled back in the bunched-up pillows and began to read.

  On the night before her wedding day, Princess Tania’s bed was strewn with rose petals and with perfumes of sandalwood and evening primrose, so that her dreams should be blessed and sweet. Then she was left alone to sleep one final time in the bedchamber she had known since childhood.

  Anita smiled as she read the description of Tania sitting up in her massive four-poster bed, holding a red rose that her fiancé had given her, and gazing happily out of her casement window at the full moon.

  And in the quiet hour before midnight, there came upon Princess Tania’s door a soft knocking. Princess Tania bade the person to enter. It was her sister Princess Rathina, come to spend a few last moments with her. They spoke together and made merry, but their bliss was destroyed when Princess Tania all of a sudden vanished without trace from her bedchamber.

  Anita blinked in surprise. She went back and read that section a second time just to make sure she hadn’t misunderstood.

  No, Princess Tania had definitely vanished.

  Princess Rathina was greatly distressed at the disappearance of her beloved sister, and she ran from room to room of the Royal Apartments, awaking everyone with her cries. Soon all the palace was astir and word spread from chamber to chamber, from tower to tower, from battlement to battlement, even to the most far-flung regions of the Great Palace—Princess Tania was lost.