“It’s easy when you wish for it, when you believe in it already. But grown men have destroyed themselves trying to grasp what you understand now. Try not to kill yourself.”
“Let’s go get him.”
Yashar shook his head. “No.”
“I’m going to get him.”
“I believe you, and I’ll be with you when you do it, but first things first. How are you going to convince him to come with you?”
Colby shrugged. “I’ll tell him they’re going to kill him.”
“And what makes you think he’ll believe you?”
“Uh . . . ,” Colby stammered for a second. “Because we’re friends.”
“Isn’t Dithers his friend? Isn’t Mallaidh?”
Colby hadn’t thought of that. All this power and he didn’t know the answer to a simple question.
“I can make him come with us.”
“Magic doesn’t work that way. It cannot force the unwilling to do what they do not wish to do, not without robbing them of who they are. Besides, Ewan can’t just leave. He’s eaten fairy food. They have to release him; he can’t just walk away.”
“Then what do we do? How do we save him?”
“If we’re going to do this, we have to let him know exactly what they intend to do. So we have to wait. We wait for the darkest part of the darkest night of the year and we let them show him their intentions. Then you can get yourself killed for your friend.”
Colby smiled. “That’s a good plan. But I won’t get killed. Promise.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
THE DARKEST HOUR OF THE DARKEST NIGHT OF THE YEAR
The procession was long and beautiful, lit by an unearthly glow, as if each participant had been bathed in distilled moonlight. Everyone was there, from the foulest of the unseelie to the proudest of the high court; it was the one night every seven years when a truce forbade a single drop of blood being spilled from anyone but the volunteer. Meinrad led the parade, the flowers in his beard in full bloom, the leaves of his branches adorned in merry garlands. Behind him walked Ewan and Dithers, both proud and smiling, each for different reasons. Dithers had done his duty and raised his boy well, and he celebrated by leading the procession with a melody played on a crudely carved wooden flute. Ewan, on the other hand, was to finally become a fairy.
Behind them walked the Sidhe—with Mallaidh in tow. Led by King Ruardhi and Queen Muirne, they were dressed in luxurious silken finery, colored eggshell and rose, with their hair impeccably groomed, pinned up with fabulously constructed laurel. Farther back were the pixies, followed by the wood wives and the salgfraulein—each in their modest, yet lovely, gowns, very middle class to the Sidhe’s upper crust—and bringing up the rear were the redcaps, accompanied by their honorary mascot Knocks. In between them all was a smattering of fairies from all over the court. Bill the Shadow and the Lutin twins; Juri the Metsik; Black Annie of the Plateau and her white-cap-wearing feline servant the Yech; Billy Brown Man; Djovic the Forgetful Maiden; Heartbreaker Bryce the Gan Caenack; Ambroas, Arzhur, and Kireg, the Korrigans; Beatriz the La Llorona; Coyote the Manitou. All manner of creature had arrived for the occasion—from the trolls that lived farther up in the hills to the skittering dark things that dwelled in the aquifers below.
The mood was somber, the dirge they sang lovely. It was a sight so serene that it could not be mistaken for anything other than a funeral. The Devil never left behind any traces of a body, not the slightest drop of blood. This was their one chance to mourn his victim. And so they walked, together, for the last time, and sang—though not all in their midst understood why.
Knocks scuffed the dirt as he walked, seething over the lavish event thrown in Ewan’s honor. Mallaidh, on the other hand, did her best to keep her composure, fighting off the urge to go fleetly skipping, her heart aflutter with the thought of Ewan finally becoming one of them; after today, they would be together forever.
The procession marched slowly along the fairy trails, the night getting darker and darker around them until the stars shone like spotlights amid the inky black and the train at last came to a stop at the Five Stone Circle. The stone altar in the center was adorned entirely in heather and bluebonnets, an ornate ceremonial knife delicately balancing atop it by its point.
Meinrad turned with a stony groan and faced the procession. The singing stopped. “Bring me the last of the milk!” he bellowed, the very night shaking with his voice. Talwyn, the field pixie, fluttered forward, a small stone cup of fairy milk teetering in her arms. Reaching down, Meinrad took it from her and held it up for all to see. With that, Talwyn bowed, retreating back to her sisters. Meinrad continued.
“Several years ago, the night brought us young Ewan. We raised him as our own. And tonight, he will become one of us and take his place, to do his duty for us all.” He motioned to Ewan. “Ewan.”
Ewan glanced up at Dithers, who looked down upon him, sadly nodding. Trying to keep from smiling—as he could tell how reverently everyone else was taking this moment—Ewan stepped forward, taking the stone cup in hand. Then he drank deeply of it, upturning the cup, making sure he swallowed every last drop. His whole body tingled; he could feel the magic taking over. Meinrad then took the cup and, taking Ewan by the hand, led him up the path to the altar, King Ruadhri following closely behind.
Meinrad picked Ewan up by the armpits, setting him gently atop the altar. “There’s only one last thing.”
“I’m ready,” said Ewan.
“Lie back.”
King Ruadhri stepped forward, picking up the knife. Meinrad stepped away as the assembled fairies fanned out to get a better look.
“King Ruadhri?” whispered Ewan.
“Yes?”
“Will I get to choose what kind of fairy I get to be? Nobody ever told me.”
Ruadhri closed his eyes. “Yes. After this one last thing. Now, close your eyes.”
“Okay,” said Ewan. “I want to be a Sidhe.”
Ruadhri raised the knife above his head and whispered a small prayer, begging for forgiveness.
“I DIDN’T THINK there would be so many of them,” said Colby, his knees shaking, the lump in his throat swelling as he spoke. “What happens if they won’t let Ewan go?”
Yashar narrowed his gaze and steadied himself. “Then we most likely won’t live long enough to see Ewan dead.”
The two crouched silently in the woods, shrouded in magicks Colby barely understood.
“I don’t think I can fight that many of them, Yashar.”
“You can’t.”
“I could if I were a stronger wizard,” he hinted.
“It’s not about power. It’s about how many of them you can focus on at once. And no man can focus on them all. Not even with a wish.”
“So what do we do?”
“Pray they don’t all come at us at once.”
“Yashar, are you scared?”
“Terrified.”
“Do you have a plan?”
“Yeah. Stand behind you.”
Colby’s eyes slowly widened, the color draining from his face. “You’re not gonna protect me?”
Yashar shook his head. “Not this time. This time you’re the one who has to protect me.”
Colby swallowed hard, nodding, and put on his big-boy face. “Let’s do this.” He had never been more scared in his life.
KNOCKS WATCHED BITTERLY from his place among the redcaps, gritting his teeth, balling his tiny hands into fists, his knuckles white and knobby. Schafer the redcap leaned in close, whispering something into his ear. At once the child’s expression changed; he looked as if he had won some sort of lottery, some prize he’d never known existed. He would have clapped, but he knew better. Once more Schafer leaned over him and whispered, Knocks trying to pretend that he wasn’t the happiest little boy in the whole world. The knife couldn’t descend soon e
nough now.
Ruadhri took a deep breath and began to speak in an ancient, all but forgotten tongue, offering the boy to the Devil.
“Don’t kill him!” cried a voice from the woods. Gasps and murmurs drifted through the crowd.
“Kill him . . . ?” muttered a few of the children, their eyes peering into the dark, heads turning and necks craning to identify the voice. Colby emerged from the dark of the woods, his arms folded, his face fixed with a determined scowl. Behind him stood Yashar, looking both cautious and concerned.
The children turned, looking to the adults. It was as if a grenade had gone off in their midst. Eyes became saucers, expressions tightened, jaws grew slack with horrified surprise. The old, however, showed no shock at all, only disdain. The hour drew close; the Devil would soon be upon them.
Knocks stood stone-faced, muttering beneath his breath, “Kill him. Just hurry up and kill him.”
Meinrad’s voice boomed once more, this time at Colby. “Child, these affairs are not yours to meddle in. You will not be asked to leave again.”
“Let him go,” demanded Colby.
Ewan leaned forward, propping himself up on his elbows. “What are you doing? I’m about to become a fairy!”
“No, you’re not,” said Colby. “They’re going to kill you and give your soul to the Devil.”
“Noooo,” said Ewan, shaking his head. That was just silly. He looked around at the somber expressions staring back at him. He looked down at the altar he lay upon. He looked up at the dagger, poised above him. And for the first time, he soberly saw everyone around him for what they were, though he didn’t want to believe it. “I’m not going to be a fairy?”
King Ruadhri refused to open his eyes, only shaking his head. “You’re as much of a fairy as you’re ever going to be.”
“That’s enough!” shouted Schafer, pushing his way through the crowd. He looked around at his fellow fairies, dozens in number, wondering why no one dared step forward to tear this kid apart. “Hey, genie. Take your whelp and get the hell out of here before I tear his arms off and beat you both to death with them.”
Yashar shrugged, shaking his head. “This isn’t me. It’s his battle, his choice. You need to talk to him.”
Schafer pounded a fist into his palm. “You need to take control of him before I do.”
“Try it,” said Colby.
Schafer laughed, staring the kid down. “I’m gonna enjoy this,” he spat, his withered tongue flitting over his swollen lip as a punctuation mark to his threat.
He stepped forward, striding boldly toward Colby, cracking his knuckles, popping his neck to each side.
There was a moment of quiet broken only by the sound of Schafer’s iron boots crunching on the gravel beneath them. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
Colby clenched his fists nervously, looking over his shoulder at Yashar.
Yashar stared back blankly.
Colby turned back to Schafer, who was steps away now. “I don’t think you’re going to enjoy this at all,” he said, his voice cracking.
He raised an outstretched arm and closed his eyes, feeling the pulsing hum of the universe around him. With a thought, he reorganized the mass before him, taking one form of energy and converting it into another with the ease of drawing a single breath.
The redcap didn’t have the chance to scream, the energy holding him together folding in upon itself as everything that was Schafer simply ceased to be. His shell abandoned him, collapsing into nothingness, his remaining essence becoming rose petals and daffodils. He burst with an audible puff, flower petals floating gently to the ground, their sweet scent wafting out into the night air.
Within seconds the only evidence that Schafer had existed at all was a slight odor and a carpet of scattered flowers in the dirt.
He was gone, the gaping jaws of his friends the only eulogy to his death.
Meinrad gazed upon the floral remains, and then cast his eyes up to an unfazed Yashar. “What have you done?”
Yashar shook his head. “I granted his wish.” There was no irony to his tenor, only sadness. “He just wanted to stop you from killing his friend.”
With shameful eyes, Meinrad looked at Colby, understanding. He motioned to the altar. “Let the boy go.”
“What?!” shouted one of the redcaps. “Are you out of your mind?!”
Meinrad shook his head, his gaze on the ground. “We are not unusually cruel creatures, Colby. You have to understand that.”
“He doesn’t have to understand anything,” another redcap protested.
Meinrad disagreed. “He must, or we will live out this night again sometime in the future. I doubt it will end so peacefully next time.”
“Peace, my ass!” shouted the first redcap. “There will be no peace!”
The pack surged forward, untethered by their rage. They snarled and heaved, launching themselves across the grotto.
Fairies jumped out of their way. The ones who didn’t were pushed to the ground by angry, clawed hands.
Pikes swung high in the air.
Colby closed his eyes, took a deep breath.
“No!” boomed the Limestone King. With a single outstretched hand, Meinrad raised the earth from the ground, limestone shards as large as a willow tree trunk punching through, kicking debris skyward.
The redcaps slammed headfirst into them.
Colby lost his concentration, his eyes wide with disbelief.
Meinrad raised an angry fist and pointed a stern finger. “Back away. Now.”
The redcaps, leaderless and still punch-drunk from their hit, scrambled to their feet, sheepishly falling back into the crowd.
The limestone receded back into the earth with a grinding rumble.
Meinrad looked over at King Ruadhri—who still stood over Ewan, knife clutched unwavering in his hand. “Let. Him. Up.”
Without making eye contact, Ruadhri lowered the knife and motioned for Ewan to hop off the altar.
Colby and Meinrad stared at each other, each waiting to see what the other would do next.
The only sound in the night was that of shuffling feet nervously shifting weight from one foot to the other. The entirety of the court looked on, holding their breath.
Meinrad nodded, knowingly. He spoke up, no longer any peace or shame in his voice. It was quite clear who was in charge. “Colby Stevens, take your friend and leave this place. The borders of the Limestone Kingdom are open to you no longer. That goes for you as well, Yashar.”
Yashar nodded, a glint of regret in the wilt of his lip. “I figured as much.”
“I imagine at this point there are few kingdoms left in which you can show your face.”
“Not many, but I get by.”
“You truly are as cursed as they say.”
Yashar nodded. He didn’t disagree. “Ewan, Colby. Come on. We’re leaving.”
Colby looked around the stone circle at the fairies, terrified one might change its mind. But no one dared to lift a finger; no one gave pursuit. They only stared, a mixture of melancholy and loss washing over them. No one liked what was happening; no one liked what would come next. For the moment they wanted only for these boys to leave.
Ewan made a slow march through the crowd, fairies stepping out of his way as he approached—each refusing to make eye contact, equally angry and ashamed. They liked him, they always had; but now all the work they’d put into raising him had gone to waste. It was all so unfair.
Then he passed Mallaidh. She looked at him, eyes filled with tears, shaking her head, mouthing wordlessly “I didn’t know.” But he couldn’t look at her. She was one of them. And they wanted him dead. He gritted his teeth, pretending he didn’t care.
“No! Noooo!” cried Knocks. “Stop him! We can’t let him leave.”
“We have to,” whispered one of the redcaps. “Or else they’ll b
e sweeping us up off the ground with Schafer.”
“No! That’s not fair!”
“If life were fair, Knocks,” said Meinrad from across the crowd, “we wouldn’t have to sacrifice fairies to begin with.”
Ewan walked across the grotto to Colby. “Hi, Colby.”
“Hey, Ewan. I told you I’d come back.”
“Can we go now?” he choked out, fighting off tears.
“Yeah. Let’s go.”
Ewan turned back to look at the crowd one last time and saw Dithers standing there, eyes cast into the dirt. Slowly Ewan turned back around.
“It’s okay to cry, you know,” said Yashar. The dam broke, and Ewan began to sob, his whole world having come to an end. Colby took Ewan’s hand in his and the two walked off into the night together. “I’m sorry,” said Yashar to the fairies, then he too disappeared from view into the gloom of the forest.
Back in the circle, Meinrad took a deep breath.
“We have to go after them,” said one of the Sidhe.
“Yeah,” echoed one of the redcaps.
“No,” said Meinrad. He shook his hung head slowly, rock scraping against stone. “We do not raise children to put to the knife because we delight in their bloodshed; we do so that they might take our place. How many of us need to be sacrificed tonight to protect that replacement? So much as one death in its defense negates the worth of the entire endeavor. We suffered that death. We have gambled and lost. Let us now cut our losses and get to the true matter at hand. Who amongst us shall meet the Devil so that the rest of us may live long and prosperous lives?”
For a moment there was silence. There would be no volunteers.
“Give him the boy!” shouted someone from the crowd.
“The boy is gone,” said King Ruadhri.
“No,” said someone else. “The other boy! The changeling!”
Once again, the crowd fell silent; then came its roar.
It was too perfect. Knocks had taken Ewan’s place before, he could take his place again; no one would miss him, not a soul. Only the redcaps showed any reservation, trading curious glances, wondering whether they were willing to sacrifice their new mascot. After all, better him than one of them.
Dreams and Shadows Page 17
