by Anthea Sharp
He took his sword in both hands and swung, scoring a deep gash along the animal’s flank. It bellowed and turned, nicking Tam’s arm with its horn. The sharp tip punctured his armor, tearing a rent in the silvery plate. He felt the sting of blood, beneath. This was not good. So far, his armor had proven impervious to anything Feyland threw at him. Why did it have to fail him now?
“Get off!” he heard Jennet cry, behind him.
No time to turn and see what was going on - the fiery-eyed beast was preparing to charge him again. The bull pawed the ground, once, then rushed forward. Damn, that thing was fast.
Tam darted to the side, and heard the swish of air by his ear as the horn narrowly missed gouging him. He made another quick stab with his sword, but the beast was getting smarter now. The next pass, or the next, Tam wouldn’t be able to jump clear in time.
Brute force wasn’t the answer. He was way overmatched in that arena. So, what did he have? Brains and agility - and high time he started using them. As the animal gathered itself to charge him once more, Tam sheathed his sword and slipped his shield from his arm.
“Tam - what are you doing?” Jennet called, fear sharpening her voice.
There wasn’t time to reassure her. He held the shield out to one side, as far from his body as he could, and waved it up and down.
“Come on,” he murmured. “Go for the shiny.”
The beast snorted and plunged forward - but this time it aimed for the shield. Tam waited, heartbeat crashing in his ears. At the last second, he dropped the decoy and leaped as the animal rushed past. His outstretched hands touched hide and horn, and he scrabbled desperately for a handhold.
His right hand closed over the bull’s horn, but he only had a moment more to get himself up, away from those deadly hooves. With a harsh grunt, he flung his leg up, feeling like his back was about to break from the angle. For a sickening second he dangled there, half-suspended on the side of the bull. Then he managed to grab a tuft of hair, enough to keep him from sliding off. The beast swung its head, trying to find him, and the motion was enough to propel him onto its back.
Tam pulled himself upright and clamped his legs around the animal, hard. He only had a heartbeat before it figured out he was aboard. Praying he wouldn’t be bucked off, he slid his sword out of its scabbard. He grasped the hilt in both hands, took a deep breath, and poised the blade, point-down, right above the beast’s spine.
“Halt!” the sprite cried. She rose into the air, tattered clothing whirling about her, and flung her arms wide.
Tam felt his muscles lock. Beneath him, the bull went still as a stone. To one side, Jennet stood frozen, too, her hands outstretched.
“Sword, speed away,” the sprite said.
With a twitch of her fingers, Tam’s blade spun from his grasp. It fell harmlessly into the grasses, gleaming among the blue flowers.
“Knight, dismount.”
Another twitch, and Tam was sent tumbling to the ground. At least his paralysis was broken. He hastily stood, grabbed his sword, then hurried over to Jennet.
“Release her,” he said.
The sprite wrinkled her nose, then slowly lowered her arms, and Jennet pulled in a gasping breath. Tam was glad to see that the bull was still under the sprite’s spell.
“We won,” Jennet said. She turned to the sprite, who still hovered in mid-air. “Admit it - we won.”
“Yon Knight carried the day,” the sprite said. “I concede the victory to you, mortals.”
She snapped her fingers, and the bull shook, as though dislodging flies. It let out a low moo, but didn’t look like it was going to charge. Still, Tam wasn’t putting his sword away.
“Your shield.” Jennet went and retrieved the trampled metal.
She held it up and examined the deep dents. Tam suppressed a shiver. Good thing it had been the shield, not him under those hooves.
The sprite snapped her fingers again, and in an eye-blink the shield was smooth and unmarred. Without a word, Jennet handed it over. He strapped it on, then turned to the sprite.
“Tell us,” he said, “Which way to the Bright King’s court?”
The creature cartwheeled through empty air and landed on the bull’s back, then sent them a jaunty smile.
“Through the gate, of course.”
“Which gate?” Jennet sounded exasperated.
“Why, that one.” The sprite pointed past their shoulders. “Farewell, brave adventurers.”
She gave a shrill whistle, and the fire-eyed bull lumbered away, back down the hill. Tam was glad to have those horns headed in the opposite direction.
“Annoying little thing,” Jennet said. “At least she wasn’t lying about the gate.”
Tam turned, to discover another fence had materialized right behind them. He and Jennet stood before a gate that looked identical to the last one they had passed through - except this one was secured by a golden latch.
“Ready?” he asked.
She nodded, and he lifted the latch and pushed the gate open.
Beyond lay an orchard in full flower, rows of trees planted in orderly lines, with emerald grass between. White drifts of petals scattered over the ground, and a sweet smell filled the air. It seemed a little too peaceful.
“A nice change from the fields,” Jennet said.
“It still doesn’t look like the Bright Court.” He stepped forward, one wary hand on his sword.
“Things usually come in threes in the Realm of Faerie,” she said. “This should be the last test.”
He glanced around, eyeing the insects buzzing among the blooms. “So, what is it this time? Killer bees?”
“I hope not.” She cast a suspicious look at the bees. “Are their eyes glowing?”
He stepped over to the nearest tree and drew down a bough, inspecting the insects. After a moment he shook his head.
“They seem ordinary,” he said, gently releasing the branch. Dislodged blossoms fell around him like snow.
She grinned at him. “You’ve got petals in your hair.”
So did she - bright stars of flowers that crowned her like a princess.
“My new look,” he said. “It accents my warrior-like qualities. Besides, I’m not the only one with tree litter on me.”
She glanced down, then brushed at her vest. Not that it would help - petals drifted all around them, eddying in the slight breeze.
“You’re not allergic, I hope,” he said, starting down the row.
“Luckily, no. A sneezing fit would really mess with my aim.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “Tam - you totally won that last fight. I was trying to help, and that dumb sprite kept jumping on me and pulling my hair. I couldn’t even get my bow out. Nice job.”
“Hey, I’m a Knight. It’s what I do.” He shrugged, though her words kindled a glow inside him.
“You know - ”
“Hold up.” He lifted one hand. “Do you hear something?”
Faint clucking and chirping sounds filtered through the drowsy hum of the bees.
“Yeah.” She cocked her head. “Birds, maybe?”
“This way,” he said, ducking under the trees to their right.
Jennet followed, matching his quiet footsteps. Three rows over, they found the source of the noise. A flock of speckled chickens browsed on the green grass, with a few white pigeons mixed in. The birds seemed oblivious to their presence - though they had the same freaky glowing eyes as the horses and cows.
“Now what?” she said at his shoulder. “We battle a flock of birds? This could get messy.”
Something moved beside the trunk of a nearby tree. Tam whirled, to see an old woman in a gray cloak step forward.
“Is it battle you seek?” she asked, her voice low and raspy.
“Actually,” Jennet said, “we seek the court of the Bright King.”
“It lies ahead - but you may not pass.”
“I think we will pass.” Tam set his hand to his sword.
“A foolish choice,” the old woman
said with a sigh. “Not unexpected, when dealing with mortals.”
She reached beneath her cloak and drew out a handful of something, then scattered it with one quick move. Golden seeds sparkled in the sun, settling like bright sequins on the grass. The fowl hurried over to peck furiously at their feed. A moment later, they erupted into flight - heading straight for Tam and Jennet.
He stepped forward and pulled his sword, feeling a little absurd. How was he supposed to fight a flock of chickens? All sense of humor fled, however, as the birds buffeted him. Their sharp claws were outstretched, scratching along his armor. One chicken flew right for his face, and he hoisted his shield, battering the bird down.
He swept his blade in wide arcs, and feathers scattered in the warm air. The birds squawked loudly, but were surprisingly good at avoiding his sword. From the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of dusty red leaping into the air. A fox! Or… was that Jennet?
There wasn’t time to be sure - the birds were coming at him even faster. He hit them with his shield, ducking away from their vicious claws and beaks. The fox was darting and jumping, leaving a growing pile of limp feathered bodies in her wake.
“Enough!” the old woman cried.
She held up her hands, and the remaining flock flapped back to her feet. Tam lowered his sword. Beside him, the fox stretched and grew, and was suddenly Jennet. She was breathing hard, but smiling.
“Nice trick,” he said.
“Instinct - though I have to say, chicken blood doesn’t taste all that great, in human form.” She scrunched up her nose in distaste.
“Water,” he said, summoning a glass, then handing it to her.
Creating little things like that in-game was easy - it was the bigger stuff that was dangerously draining.
Jennet drank the water, then handed him the glass back, and he vanished it.
“Now, hen-wife,” Tam said, “which way to the Bright Court?”
The old woman nodded. “Well may you ask, brave adventurers - and you have won the right to know. Go on a little farther, and you will see a round green hill rising against the sky. The hill will have three terraces ringing it, from bottom to top. Go once widdershins round the bottom terrace, saying, Open from within, let us in, let us in.”
Tam leaned toward Jennet. “What’s widdershins?”
“Counter-clockwise,” she said.
“Go twice widdershins around the middle terrace,” the old woman continued, “saying, Open wide, open wide, let us inside.”
Tam repeated the words to himself, committing both the first and second rhyme to memory. He knew Jennet was doing the same.
The woman paused, glancing up into the sky. Then she closed her eyes, as if ready to take a short nap with the sun on her face.
“And the third terrace?” he prompted.
“Always so impatient, you mortal blood,” the hen-wife snapped, opening her eyes. “Very well. At the top terrace, go widdershins thrice around, saying, Open fast, open fast, let us in at last. And the door in the hill will open, giving passage to the Bright Court. Now, go. I am weary.”
She closed her eyes again, clearly done with them. Jennet traded a quick look with Tam, and together they slipped past the drowsing hen-wife. The birds pecking around her feet paid them no mind, though their eyes still glowed with eldritch fire.
“Glad that’s over,” Jennet said, once they put some distance between themselves and the hen-wife.
He frowned. “We still haven’t made it to the Bright Court.”
“We will. Look, the trees are thinning out.”
The orchard ended suddenly, and before them, as the old woman had promised, a round green hill rose against the sky.
They stepped up to the first terrace. Tam drew his sword and stuck it, point first, into the earth. It swayed, a silver sentinel bright against the green grass.
“What’s that for?” Jennet asked.
“So we know when we’ve gone once around.”
She nodded, then reached over and caught his hand. The clasp of their fingers felt right.
“Ready?” she asked, giving his hand a little squeeze.
“Always.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN - THE BRIGHT COURT
Jennet turned to her right. Widdershins. Hand-in-hand, she and Tam paced around the first terrace, saying the words the hen-wife had given them. The rhyme didn’t seem at all childish or silly, as she had feared. Instead, the syllables hung in the air. Clouds began to gather at the horizon, a dark line that made her shiver.
She was glad when they reached Tam’s sword. That had been a smart idea, if a little dramatic. Then again, Feyland was a dramatic place.
“Round two,” he said, yanking the blade free.
It was a steeper climb, ascending to the second terrace. When they gained the flat section, Jennet took a deep breath. The orchard spread below them, the tops of the trees like fluffy pillows. Beyond the orchard, she could see the fence, and the meadow dotted with grazing cattle.
Again, Tam drove his sword into the earth, and they took hands, facing widdershins. The words of the rhyme tolled out like a bell. As they walked, the wind began to rise, pulling strands of Jennet’s hair free to whip about her face. They passed the sword. Clouds were piling up in the sky, a dark bruise reaching for the sun.
“Hurry,” she breathed when they reached his sword the second time.
Tam yanked it out of the ground and they scrambled up to the final terrace, grabbing onto tufts of grass to keep their balance. Tam took her hand and hauled her up the last few feet, then pushed the tip of his blade into the earth. From here, she could see the far meadow, where a silvery herd of horses raced under the darkening sky - and beyond, the edge of a wood.
Clasping hands again, even tighter, they went around the top terrace, faster and faster. The words of the rhyme fell from her lips, echoed on his, until the very air seemed to be vibrating.
“Open fast, open fast, let us in at last.”
Past the sword once. Twice.
The clouds devoured the sun, the air suddenly cold and clammy against her skin. The wind grew even fiercer, snatching the syllables from her mouth almost before she said them. Tam raced ahead, pulling her by the hand. Ahead, the silver blade of his sword glowed, as if lit from within.
She reached the blade a second behind Tam. As she did, the air was rent by a clap of thunder that brought them both to their knees. He stood and wrenched his sword free, and a sudden stillness fell over the land.
“Look,” he whispered.
Above them, at the very summit, a seam opened in the side of the hill. The grasses shimmered and melted away, revealing a wooden door. Slowly, it swung open - a shadow-mouth leading someplace unimaginable. Cold air breathed out, scented with age and long-forgotten things buried in the earth. Two tall, hooded figures swathed in mist-colored cloaks stood guard on either side.
Jennet swallowed, fear a sharp tang in her mouth.
“That doesn’t look very… bright,” she said in a low voice. Whatever she’d been expecting, it wasn’t this - a gaping passage leading into a dark hill.
Tam slid his arm around her shoulders and pulled her in for a quick, comforting hug. It worked - probably because it was so unexpected. She blinked at him, and he gave her a half-smile.
“Come on,” he said.
He stepped away from her and led the way up the last bit of rise. Despite his confident bearing, she could see that his fingers were tight on the handle of his sword.
As they approached, Jennet peered at the doorway, trying to catch a glimpse of what lay beyond the threshold. She couldn’t see anything, just a swirling, heavy mist.
“Bold Tam Linn and Lady Jennet,” the cloaked figures said, their voices chiming in eerie unison. “The door into the hill stands open, and our king awaits. Enter.”
Her heartbeat galloping like the silvery horses, she moved up beside Tam. Shoulder-to-shoulder, they walked forward into the pale mist.
Instead of darkness, it was as lumin
ous as the dawn clouds catching the first glow of sunshine. Their footsteps were muffled, and the air around them was strangely warm. Just visible through the mist, she could see the shapes of arches on either side of them. They were made of quartz crystal, the pale material nearly the same color as the swirling air.
“I don’t think this is the Bright Court,” she said, her voice muted by the mist.
“Me either,” Tam said. “Do we try one of these side passages?”
“Maybe.” She squinted. “What’s that up ahead?”
“I’ll go see.” Tam lengthened his stride. “Another door.”
She hurried to catch up, then caught her breath as the mist swirled up around them. A second later it faded away, revealing a tall crystalline arch closed with two richly decorated golden doors. She leaned forward for a closer look at the sinuous designs - foliage and flowers and capering fey-folk.
“Watch out,” Tam said, taking her elbow and pulling her back as the doors began to open.
Radiance spilled from the widening crack, so bright that she lifted her arm to shield her eyes.
“Hello?” she called.
There was no answer, just the doors opening wide until they stopped, spread open like shining wings.
“All right,” she said, dropping her arm and trying not to squint. “I’d say we’ve finally reached the Bright Court.”
With a deep breath, she stepped over the threshold. They were there - she felt it in her bones.
Past the doors, the light was as bright as day, gleaming on tall pillars carved of gold and silver. She tipped her face up to see the roof - but there were only waving branches overhead. Branches that glimmered and gleamed, with emerald leaves and brightly jeweled flowers winking between. She looked again at the pillars. No, not pillars - they were the trunks of those fantastical gemmed trees. Underfoot, moss as lush as green velvet cushioned their footsteps.
She glanced at Tam, to see his eyes were wide.
“I don’t think we’re still under the hill,” she said.
“Oh, but you are,” a high, familiar voice piped. “In and in, and deeper in, to the very halls of the Bright Court you have come.”
“Puck?” Tam turned a full circle, and they were rewarded with the sprite’s laughter.
