by S. C. Green
Tristan pushed the gate open and stepped over the threshold. As he did so, something grabbed his stomach and twisted, wrenching him off his feet and down into the crumbling earth. His head hit an iron post and he saw faerie lights dancing in front of his eyes.
His stomach churned and cramped, and he tasted his dinner in his throat. What’s happening? It was as if some invisible force at the gate had struck him down. Tristan tried to move his arms, tried to sit up, but it was as if his whole body was made of jelly.
Beside him, Cwn Annw crumpled to the earth, his tongue lolling from side to side.
"St. John's Wort," he mumbled, "Someone put St. John's Wort on the threshold."
Tristan remembered Ms. McAllister talking about St. John’s Wort in one of her stories. It was an ancient herb poisonous to faeries. It could bind a faerie to the earth, and prevent them from moving. People used to place it on the thresholds of their homes, to stop the faeries coming inside.
I'm not a faerie, why does it ... Oh crap I'm gonna throw up-
"Yee'll nae disturb the rest of these fellows!"
He’d recognise that voice anywhere. Even through his pain, he managed a weak smile. He pried his eyelids open and saw Ms. McAllister swing an iron rod at the quivering Seelie, jabbing them back cross the threshold, into her circle of St. John's Wort. All around him fey dropped to the dirt, howling and clawing at their skin.
His vision swirled and blurred, then went black. He rolled over, retching on the ground, his stomach contorting as it fought to squeeze out the last vestiges of his dinner.
He felt hands on his back, pulling him up. He retched again. "It should nae affect you," Ms. McAllister pressed her hand against Tristan's forehead, shaking his shoulders. "What have ye done? Ye drank their water, aye lad?"
Tristan nodded, gasping for breath. "They've got Dad...and Alice...she drank the water, too-"
Squinting through his blurred vision, he searched the fey for the Marble Queen. She'd fallen in the middle of the circle, her lithe body convulsing as she lay in the poison herb. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she let out a great wail of agony. Alice, her cage pressed tight against the Marble Queen's breast, covered her eyes and met Tristan's gaze.
"The St. John's Wort won't hold them for long, Tristan." Ms McAllister cried, squeezing his shoulder tight. "We must contain them before they're permanently cast adrift into our world. Malice and havoc will follow in their wake."
"The Unseelie, they flew away. They're out there, in the real world."
"We'll deal with them tomorrow. Crossing the barrier will have weakened them, so there's naught mischief they can do until they regain their strength. It's the Seelie we must worry about now."
"What do we do?"
"I know a spell that will bind them inside the faerie realm for tonight. It is ancient and powerful. Once they are bound we will be able to free Alice."
Tristan nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Spindle and the other litterfey drag his father's body close to the threshold. They waited at the edge of the gate, just outside the circle where the Seelie were trapped, howling and writhing as the herb bit deep into their skin. The litterfey did not seem to be affected by the herb.
Perhaps it's because they have bodies from the human realm, Tristan mused.
Panic rose in his chest as he stared at his father's limp body. "Dad's still not moving."
Ms McAllister ran to his father's side, shook him vigorously, and bent over to whisper something in his head. Spindle jumped on his father's chest, waving his tail in protest. Ms. McAllister made to grab Spindle, to throw him into the circle of St. John's Wort, when Tristan shouted at her to stop.
"No! They are good faeries. Please, help me over to him."
Her face told him she didn't believe him, but she dropped Spindle and ran to Tristan's side. She helped him to his feet, half leading, half carrying him back through the gates and around the barrier of St. John’s Wort to safety. He slumped on the ground beside his father, massaging his legs till the feeling in them started to return.
"We need to perform the spell now, Tristan."
Tristan placed his hands on his father's cheek. The skin felt slick with sweat.
"Just tell me what I have to do."
Ms. McAllister grabbed his hand. She turned to Spindle. "Can ye release this man from his bonds? His power would help us bind the Seelie."
Spindle shook his head. "This is Unseelie rope."
Ms. McAllister sighed. "Tristan, we're on our own, laddie. I'm going to chant something. I'd teach it to you, but it's in Gaelic, and you couldn't pronounce the words. I need you to focus on imagining a cone of power rising from the earth and surrounding the faeries. I ken it sounds ridiculous, but can you do that?"
He nodded. Old Mac squeezed his hand and began to chant. “Is maith liom bunanna mór agus ní féidir liom a bréag. Cé go bhféadfadh deartháireacha eile a dhiúltú...” The words were foreign, spoken from the back of her throat, twisting her voice in strange ways. She began to speak louder, repeating the verse, shouting the words into the darkened sky. He stared into the circle of St. John's Wort, where the Seelie writhed and swirled in agony. Their feylights shone bright, stealing all light from the moon and making the field glow like a spaceship. At the centre was the Marble Queen, her eyes closed and her hands bound tight around the bars of Alice's cage.
In his mind he pictured a whirlwind rising from the earth, surrounding the fey. It twisted and swirled as it rose, higher and higher, like a tornado swallowing everything in its path. He could almost hear the roar of it in his ears, growing stronger as Old Mac chanted louder. Goosebumps rose on his arms, as though he really was being caressed by the whirlwind as it tore the fey away from his city and back into their own realm.
The wind swirled higher, and the fey began to swirl too, every one of them sailing up into the sky, flailing without control under the power of the spell. The Marble Queen's eyes flew open as she was dragged upward, and she stared at Tristan with such venom. "You cannot do this!"
And Tristan pushed with his mind, and in his head he saw that wind pick them up and carry them all away, all the brilliant lights of the Seelie, up into the clouds. The air was blanketed with twittering wings and darting forms, with shrieking fey who knew they were being banished.
It's working!
His mind soared with the power as it coursed through him. He pushed harder, his mind carried along with the winds, twisting and swirling as he wrapped the Seelie in a prison of air. Old Mac's strange chant thundered in his ears.
Up, up he pushed them, away from the earth, away from his town. He began to close the winds around them, trapping them completely within that fearsome gust. Just as the winds were closing around the Seelie, Tristan saw a brilliant light push its way through and soar across the sky, back toward the Garden. He heard the Marble Queen's voice scream against the stars. "You will pay for this, Seer. You will pay!"
Old Mac stopped chanting, and the vision faded from Tristan's mind. The cone of wind vanished. All the feylights, and their shrieks and screams were gone. He blinked, and saw the circle of St. John's Wort was empty save one. In the centre was Alice, still trapped inside her cage.
“Twisty! Help me!”
He raced to her, grabbing at the vines that held the cage together. He expected to be stung with thorns, or repelled in some way, but instead the vines snapped under his fingers, so rotted and soft were they, and he pulled his sister free. She fell into his arms, sobbing.
Of course I got her back. The Seelie can never break an oath.
"Sssh, it's OK now." He stroked her hair. "They've gone. They won't hurt you any more. And look who I found?" He moved aside, so she could see their father lying at the edge of the cemetery.
"Daddy!"
She broke from Tristan's arms and ran towards him with an awkward gait, dropping down beside him. "He's asleep!" she cried.
Tristan ran over, too. He'd expected his father to be freed too, like Alice, after they'd
banished the Seelie, but he was still lying unconscious, his feet and hands and neck still bound tightly with thorns. Gingerly, Tristan prodded one of the bonds. Blood welled on his finger.
"What's wrong with him, Spindle?" He asked the litterfey, who was still holding his rope.
Spindle tightened his grip on the rope.
"Spindle?" Tristan's stomach tightened. "What's wrong?"
Spindle stepped forward. "We're making a deal, Tristan. You're going to help the Litterfey find a brugh of our own."
"What makes you think I'm making any more deals with faeries?"
"The Queen escaped your bindings, and you know she's going straight to the Unseelie to make a deal of her own. You've got Unseelie out there, preparing to unleash a mighty Slaugh on your world, and you're going to need our help to stop them. The parade is tomorrow, eh? Do you want to know what the Marble Queen and Unseelie will do with all those people gathered in the streets?"
"Release my father, Spindle."
"Not until you keep your end of the deal. Not until you establish the Litterfey within a brugh." He wiggled his tail. "I happen to know of one that's recently become available. It's already charged with power. If we become the rulers there, our power will be strong enough to defeat the Dark Court and the Marble Queen, once and for all. All we need is for you to hand it over to us, all official-like, before the Queen reclaims it as her own."
"Are the solitary fey really strong enough to bind the two powerful courts?”
“We are if we’re angry enough.” said Spindle. “And I’m plenty angry right now.”
Tristan leaned over, and pulled his father’s head into his lap, smoothing back his hair and gingerly touching the lacerations across the skin. His father’s breath came out in short, ragged puffs. But at least he was breathing.
Oh, Dad. What have they done to you? “I don't want to help any more faeries."
"We understand, and we respect your decision. However, this is bigger than you, and that’s why we have him." Spindle leapt on Tristan’s Dad’s chest, and grabbed his torn shoulders in his sharp pincers. “He’s our leverage.”
Tristan's eyes narrowed. He swiped at Spindle, but the fey lashed at him with his spiked tail. A sharp pain bit into Tristan’s hand, and he jumped back. A long cut ran down the side of his palm, fresh blood mingling with the dried on his fingers.
Spindle began to drag his father upright into a sitting position. His dad moaned, his head lolling from side to side. His eyes fluttered open, briefly, then shut again. Spindle’s pincers dug into the skin on his shoulders, and blood dribbled from the deep cuts. "Let him go.” Tristan cried. “You're hurting him!"
Spindle shook his father, making him moan again. "I don't like it either, kid. But we need your help. And if this is the way to get you to understand..."
"Why don't you just ask me for..." As he spoke he realised what it must be like for Spindle to have the court faeries as masters, what it must be like to live in a world of faerie logic. It explained why it never crossed Spindle's mind that if he gave Tristan his Dad back, he might be more inclined to help. He switched tactics.
"Dad could help us," he offered, struggling to keep his voice even. "He's an Iron-Dweller."
"We don't need him. We just need you, Iron-Piper." Spindle sighed. "Look, can we just do this my way? We don't have a lot of time left."
"Well, then, you’d better do as I say, or I’m not helping. We may have a deal, but I'm in charge, not you. I'm not going with you unless you free Dad."
"Fine," Spindle grabbed the barbs around his father's neck between his pincers. Within moments he'd severed the rope. Tristan's dad gasped for air and rolled towards away from the faeries, his hands reaching out to clasp his son’s.
"Tristan," he croaked. "I tried to warn you-"
"What do you mean?”
“I told you to run away.”
“It was your voice I could hear inside my head?"
His father nodded, his face screwed in pain. "I don't know how I could do it, but when they had me, I could see you, where you were, what you were thinking. I kept trying to talk to you..."
"I heard you. It must be the faerie magic. I don't know how it works either. But that’s not important now, Dad. I had to let the fey out of the garden. We managed to bind the Seelie here, but the Queen escaped, and she and the Unseelie are now free in our world."
Tristan's Dad squeezed his eyes shut again, wincing with pain as he rolled over on to his knees. “That's not good.”
Spindle leapt onto Tristan's shoulder, digging his twisted aluminium pincers into his skin. "No, it's not. Lead us back, Tristan. Lead us back to our brugh. We'll stop them once and for all."
Tristan and Ms. McAllister helped Tristan’s father to his feet. He leaned heavily against them, coughing as he tested the strength in his legs for the first time in five weeks. They left the empty circle of St. John's Wort and trailed across the football field. Spindle perched on Tristan's shoulder, and the other fey – aptly named Smokey – hobbled beside him. Ms. McAllister followed, supporting Tristan's dad as he staggered.
As they neared the Garden once more, the night grew eerily quiet. There were no cars in the street, no revellers outside the pub, no kids lounging outside the skate park. Even the night birds in the trees ceased their song. They passed through the gate to the Gardens with ease, leading a trail of litterfey up the path. Deeper and deeper into the Gardens they strode, betwixt the brick and iron pylons, through the high-reaching ash and oak trunks sagging with mischievous sprites, past the wooden benches and into the central apse. It was completely deserted, only the empty fountain and broken statue any clue to what had transpired there.
"Here you are," said Tristan, setting Spindle down one the plinth that had once held the Marble Queen's statue. "The Garden is yours."
"C'mon, boys." Spindle blew a shrill whistle through the bottleneck that protruded from the side of his head. "We own this place now!"
The litterfey emerged from the bushes where they had cowered, crinkling as they shuffled across the leaf-splattered path. There seemed to be thousands of them, each created from scraps and shards of human garbage, each moulded and crafted to shuffle and skid and shimmer and float on the Gaoth Shee, like the other faeries, but more beautiful because they were made with human magic.
As one the litterfey descended on the Marble Queen’s plinth and - as Tristan’s dad gathered his two children in his arms and watched them work - they tore it down. Marble dust and rock flakes cascaded onto the grass.
"Welcome to the brugh of the Litterfey Court," Spindle kicked a shard of marble into the empty fountain. The fey cheered, and their cacophony filled Tristan with happiness.
"What about the other men?" Tristan's Dad asked. "The other Iron-Dwellers?"
"Oh!" Spindle looked surprised. "Of course." He snapped his fingers. Three faeries with tissue paper wings swooped down upon the trapped truck drivers, and with a few quick chomps, broke their bonds.
The men rose, rubbing their wounds and looking around the garden in amazement. "How did we ... what are they ... "
"We can't explain," Tristan pointed to the gate. "Just go home. Your families miss you. Please, just leave this place as fast as you can."
Holding each other for strength, the three men trudged off into the night.
"Thank you, Tristan." Spindle settled on his palm. "We have our new brugh now, thanks to you. You are, of course, free to go. We have work to do here. We have to prepare our home against the coming storm."
Tristan set the new faerie king down in the long grass, and patted him once on his aluminium head. Spindle raised one long, aluminium pincer in salute.
Ms. McAllister patted Tristan on the shoulder. Tristan broke away from his father’s grasp and embraced her. “Thank you, for everything. Thank you for all your stories, for helping me understand.”
"You are a brave lad, Tristan."
"C'mon, son." His dad tucked Alice's hand into his belt loops. He grimaced as his bod
y sagged in pain, and he leaned on Tristan's shoulder. "Let's go home. Your mother will be wondering where we've got to."
“What about the faeries?” Tristan stared along the street, searching for shadows where shadows should not be. “They’re in our world now. Are we safe?”
“You have done what you can, and we’re as safe as we’re going to be tonight. We have to hope Spindle and his friends can come up with a solution. Now, please.” Dad pushed him gently towards the gate. “Let’s surprise your mother.”
***
Their reunion was happier than Tristan could have ever imagined. Mom sobbed into Dad’s shoulder, but they were tears of happiness. She heated up a frozen pizza and they all ate together for the first time in weeks. Tristan watched his Dad stuff slice after slice into his mouth, as if he were only just remembering what food tasted like. After the dinner they all lay together on the couch, watching the moon out the window, and Tristan’s chest felt like it would burst from the intensity of the happiness that welled up from within. Alice began to nod off. Tristan stroked her hair, realising how tired he felt, all his limbs like lead sinking into the floor. His parents tucked them both into bed, and Tristan heard his Mom run a bath. She locked the bathroom door and Tristan lay between the covers, his eyes closed and his head swimming, and listened to his parents murmuring as Mom cleaned and dressed his father’s wounds.
He woke the next morning feeling much better. It was the best sleep he'd had in weeks. He checked the clock – 8am. The parade would begin in a two hours time. Is that enough time to figure out how to stop the Marble Queen and the Unseelie?
All Tristan's mother wanted to do was keep them all at home so she could fuss over their father. "He's had a horrible ordeal," she cooed over the breakfast table, as she heaped bacon onto his plate. "He should rest."
