by Trisha Telep
“Of which you are now one,” his sister cut in. As she spoke, she shifted oddly, as if to cover something with her skirts.
Sinead’s attention was drawn downwards where, for the first time, she noticed an appalling sight. The feet of the Fae were bare despite their other finery. And what feet they were! Battered and bloody, bruised and swollen, they were the feet of immortal beings who spent every night of their lives dancing heedlessly, madly away under the light of the moon, no more able to stop themselves than the ant could stop its toil or the seasons could cease their turning.
“Your feet,” Sinead gasped, with mingled sympathy and horror.
The male seemed annoyed that she had noticed the single flaw to their otherwise beautiful persons. “Never mind that, it is nothing.” His tone was dismissive. “The pain is scarcely felt when one becomes caught up in the rapture of the dance.”
“That is so,” his sister agreed.
Sinead’s eyes widened. “You are mad. Both of you.”
The male simply smiled; the female nodded pleasantly. “But, of course.”
Sinead shuddered. “I . . . I think I’d better be going now.”
“But you cannot,” the female answered. “Once a mortal has entered the ring it is physically impossible for them to depart, unless we will it.”
“Let me guess. The law of the Sídhe?”
“Exactly so,” answered the male.
Sinead sighed. “I’ve told you my mother needs me – she needs this joyflower. What will it take for you to agree to let me take it to her?”
“There is nothing that can be given in exchange for a human life. I’m sure you will agree,” answered the male faery coyly.
For the first time that day Sinead felt the backs of her eyes prickle with tears – not tears of fear, but of dismay and frustration. To have come so far only to be defeated by a witless pair such as this!
It was in this moment of utter despair that an idea came to her mind. “Suppose we made a bargain?” she offered. “Suppose I swore to return at dawn tomorrow? Would you allow me this one last night to return to my home? After all, what could possibly be gained by keeping me now against my will? I can promise you I’d never cease to hate you for it and I should not dance well for you at all. It would be an eternity of strife.”
The faeries exchanged looks. Then the female shrugged. “I see no reason why we should not let you go for awhile yet. If you swear to return to us of your own free will, we will grant you this last half-day and night of freedom. We will even grant you the joyflower to carry away.”
Her brother looked disgruntled, Sinead noted, but he too gave his assent.
“At dawn on the morrow,” the female said, “the magic will come for you.”
Regretfully, Sinead agreed.
Scarcely had she escaped this second test when she found herself facing a third. The woods at the edge of the meadow were dark and deep and were rumoured to be guarded by fearsome forest creatures who permitted no human to set foot within their boundaries.
And yet, the fever-wort grew only within the shadows of the wood and, having committed herself this far, Sinead could hardly turn back.
Besides, she comforted herself, she had already sold her life to the lake folk in exchange for the pitcher of water she now carried against her breast and to the Fae folk in exchange for the joyflower in her belt pouch. What did it matter, in the end, whether it was the lake folk, the Fae, or the dreadful creatures of the forest who eventually claimed her? Oddly enough, the thought emboldened her.
With a good deal more resolve now than she had possessed earlier in the morning, Sinead entered the shadows of the wood.
She travelled far, all the way into the heart of the forest, before she at last found a shady little clearing beside a babbling brook, where the fever-wort grew in profusion. Here she gathered as much of the plant as she needed and, tucking it into the little pouch dangling from her belt, set off on her way again.
Relieved at having completed her goal so easily and having met with no interference from the frightful wood creatures, she was eager to leave the forest behind her and to be soon at her mother’s side once more.
Unfortunately, that was not to be. She quickly discovered that she had journeyed so far into the shadowy wood that she could no longer recall the way back out.
Picking her way along the path that looked most familiar, she at length found herself back once more in the exact same shady clearing she had so recently left. In fact, no matter which direction she left this spot in, she continued to return always to the same place. What is this? she asked herself. What mischievous magic is at work here? Am I doomed forever to wonder this gloomy wood?
It was as she again came face to face with the babbling brook after her third attempt to leave the clearing that Sinead first began to sense she was not alone, and perhaps had not been alone this entire time. A tingling feeling tickled its way down her spine; she could feel unseen eyes upon her.
Spinning slowly, searching for her watcher, her eyes abruptly collided with an unexpected figure. It was as if it simply appeared from nowhere. One moment there had been nothing but a beam of sunshine slanting down through the treetops to fall across a rotting stump. In the next instant he appeared.
He was a great stag of the forest. His graceful body was lithe and muscled beneath his copper-hued hide; massive, spreading antlers towered above his head . . . And yet he was more than that.
What should have been the neck of the stag, widened rather than narrowed, merging into the form of a man’s waist and upper torso. Fine, reddish-hued fur ran up to a broad chest, above which soared bare, muscular shoulders and a head as human as that of any young man she had ever seen . . . Well, perhaps not quite human. Certainly there were features distinctly human in that face, but there were also traits that could only have come from the stag. His nose was long and narrow, his high chin and cheekbones were dusted with fine hair of the same hue as the deer hide further down his body. Even the longish hair of his head was a deep, rich red to match his hide. His mouth was wide and pink and possessed of a more generous pair of lips than would seem natural on most people.
But just as with the lake folk, it was this creature’s eyes that made her reassess her impression of its humanity. Those dark, pupil-less eyes were as beastly as the rest of his face was manly. Sinead could read in them no sign of human emotion or intelligence.
There was no more time for gawking. A sudden stirring of the hairs along the back of her neck warned her of still more hidden observers. Daring to look away from the stag-man for an instant, she stole a glance over one shoulder.
The motion was met with a fluttering and a scurrying of movement among the branches of the near trees along the boulders edging the brook. Sinead caught only the vague impressions of an owl with the face of a child ducking back among the fallen leaves of an oak and a raccoon with human-appearing hands and feet scuttling behind a fallen log.
She shuddered, imagining how many more equally strange creatures still lurked in the shadows.
“You needn’t fear; we mean you no harm – though neither will we aid you.”
Despite having noted his human-like mouth, Sinead was nonetheless startled when the stag spoke in the voice of an ordinary man. Swallowing, she tried to slow the wild thudding of her heart. Unnerved as she was at being addressed by a half-stag, half-man, a tiny part of her mind was beginning to accept such odd things as being somehow natural on a day as strange as this one.
The steadiness of her voice came as a surprise. “I’m glad to hear you mean me no ill, great stag, as I face a mission of great importance and it’s imperative that I carry it out with haste. You see, my mother is gravely ill and I mean to brew her a healing potion. I have already collected the needed fever-wort and was just on my way home when, as you probably saw for yourself, I discovered myself somehow turned about and lost. It’s the oddest thing but no matter which path I chose I found myself drawn again to this same clearing.”
> Even as she spoke, she took the opportunity to study the stag-man further and quickly found herself blushing. It was a ridiculous thought to have at such a moment, but she suddenly realized she had never seen a man with his upper body bared before. She was not certain she was seeing one now.
Luckily, he followed her words and not her foolish thoughts.
“There is nothing strange in your losing yourself here,” he said, once more surprising her by his casual tone. He sounded much like any handsome young farmer she might have conversed with in the local village. “The Sídhe of these woods guard the forest by means of an ancient spell, denying not entrance but exit to any foolish or desperate enough to tread this ground.”
Sinead frowned at the implied insult. “By ‘foolish’ I suppose you mean me?”
He agreed. “From the moment you stepped into the forest shadows you have doomed yourself to suffer the same fate as those before you – to wander eternally the twisted pathways of the wood.”
“As you do,” Sinead ventured with sudden understanding. “Were you and these others once human beings like me?”
The stag-man seemed to consider. “Perhaps,” he answered at last. “It is hard to recall a past so distant. For me it has been very long since I walked with human feet upon the earth.”
Sinead found that difficult to believe, for his face appeared only a few years older than her own. But perhaps that was a part of the Sídhe spell – perhaps ones such as he did not age or aged more slowly than most.
She realized he was looking pointedly downwards at her small feet, encased in shabby boots, and peeking from beneath the edge of her skirt’s ragged hem.
“For you, walking among men and women will soon become a dim memory as well. You will come to accept the wood as your home and to guard it as jealously as we.”
“Never. I would spend my life fighting against the spell. It would be an eternal strife.”
“You will find soon enough that there is little to fear and nothing to fight, just as you do not now despise your humanity or find it a fate to be striven against. You simply are what you are.” Even as he spoke, he turned away.
“Wait!” Sinead cried after him. “Don’t go, please; I need your help. I cannot live in this terrible forest forever.” At his expression she hastily amended, “I mean, certain as I am that it is a lovely place to call home, I am needed elsewhere. My mother, remember? She has no one but me to look after her.”
The stag-man shrugged a powerful shoulder. Sinead could not help admiring how it flexed the long muscles of his back.
He said, “If that is the case then I am sorry for you both, but there is nothing I can do. Only those who have already succumbed fully to the forest magic are capable of escaping its spell, and by then they have lost the desire to do so.”
“By succumbing to the magic . . . ?”
“I mean those who have taken on the beastly forms such as those you see around you. Those who have become as we.”
A tiny flame of hope flickered to life within Sinead’s heart. “Then you, who have already taken your beastly form, know your way past this horrible ensnaring spell that has twisted the path at my feet and made me a prisoner to the wood?”
“We know the proper path out of the forest,” he admitted. “It is visible to us who are no longer spellbound.”
“Show me the way,” Sinead demanded boldly.
The stag-man stared at her with imperturbable eyes. “Why should I do that? It is too late for me. I have given up the human existence. Why should I aid another in escaping the fate that is mine?”
Sinead’s temper stirred to life. How had she ever found him attractive? Heavens, he was a . . . a beast. Her voice rose in mingled anger and desperation. “It is because you could not escape when you still possessed the will that you should help me! Because you were once the prisoner that I am now. Only remember what it was like to possess human compassion, human love and, if you still have any drop of human emotion within you, aid me in returning home to care for my mother.”
Something flickered briefly in the stag-man’s dark eyes.
She dared to hope her argument had moved him.
“Very well.” The declaration was sudden; she had the impression that even he was startled by it. “I will grant your request, but only in half.” His lips twisted in an attempt at a human smile that was both ghastly and vaguely appealing. “We do everything by halves here, as you see.”
Sinead was too uneasy about her circumstances and too shaken by the sudden and strange pull she felt towards this half-human, half-animal creature to spare patience for his odd bit of humour. Her heart, which had leaped a little at his first words, sank as the last sunk in. “What do you mean you will grant only half?”
The stag-man’s tone hardened. “I offer you a bargain. I and the others will grant you safe passage through the forest and will lead you out of this spell-wrought snare, but only on the condition that you must return to this place tomorrow morning. Take the fever-wort to your mother and make your healing potion. Tend her through the night but, at the dawn of the morrow, the magic will call you to us again.”
Sinead knew in her heart nothing she could say would persuade him to change his mind. He had been generous in his way. Unexpectedly, she found herself admiring what humanity was left in him. She no longer thought of him as a horrifying creature. There was something unusually graceful and somehow right in the blend of animal and man before her. What would it be like to be transformed as he – to lead a half-woman, half-beast existence?
She shook her head, it was not a possibility she was comfortable entertaining. All the same, she found herself speaking words of agreement. As easily as that, the dread bargain was sealed.
She shuddered as the reality of that sank in and tried to comfort herself. At least out of all of this, I may yet save Mother.
Back at home in the little cottage nestled at the foot of the hills, Sinead brewed up a strong tea over the hearth, using the lake water, the joyflower and the fever-wort herb.
Her mother was scarcely conscious and it was with difficulty that Sinead managed to trickle a portion of the tea into her mouth.
Then she crawled into a pallet of straw on the floor and fell asleep wondering if all she had done would be enough. What if she had bargained away her life to the creatures of the lake, meadow and wood for nothing?
She awoke early to find her mother’s fever-induced sleep had gone in the night, to be replaced by the deeper slumber of true rest. She had passed the point of crisis and was on the mend. Sinead rejoiced at the healthy pink glow in the formerly pale cheeks and was relieved on pressing a palm to the lined forehead to find it cool to the touch, the fever fading like the last stars of the night.
Fading stars. Sinead recalled the awful events of the day before, the rash promises she had made. She wondered which magic would come and claim her first – that of the lake folk, the Fae of the meadow or the half-beast creatures of the wood.
Reluctantly, fearfully, she stepped out of the cottage and into the grey light of early morning. There was a chill in the air. The grass under her feet was still heavy with dew and on the horizon a faint tint of rose lightened the sky.
How like yesterday it all seemed! Almost she could believe she had simply dreamed the events of the previous morning and afternoon. Almost she could wish she had.
It was just as the tip of the bright sun appeared over the far treetops that Sinead became aware of the magics. She could not be sure which of them she first sensed.
A great rushing sound, like the roar of a river overflowing its bank, came sweeping down over the hills from the north. It seemed to carry on it the call of the lake folk: a multitude of watery echoes flooding her way.
Instantaneously, another sort of magic began to well up from the opposite direction. This magic was visible to her eyes as a bright ray of sunlight, a shining, golden stream gleaming over the hilltop and flashing down towards the cottage in the valley. Sinead could almost hear the la
ughter of the faeries riding on the sunbeam, could almost smell the overpowering scent of meadow flowers and hear the drumming tread of delicate feet pounding out a steady, endless dance of mirth and madness.
And finally, at that very moment, a third magic came pouring towards her from the western hills. This magic took the form, not of a sight or an audible call to her ears, but of a silent urging, a pulsing of the earth beneath her, an insistent tugging of the wind, on which was borne the scent of moss-covered bark, rotting leaves and fertile earth. Sinead had but to close her eyes and she could envision the peaceful clearing with the babbling brook, the soothing shade of the overhead canopy and the strangely compassionate half-stag awaiting her coming. Oddly, the scene was no longer a dreaded or troubling one.
Onwards all three streams of magic travelled down the hills, racing towards her – competing, Sinead imagined, to see which would claim her from the other, for clearly she could not belong to the water, the meadow and the wood.
She could do no more than stand motionless and wait to discover her fate. Running would have been fruitless. Dashing into the frail little cottage? What good could that do? No, she summoned her courage and waited, waited.
They were all but simultaneous, the magics, as they slammed into her. It was impossible to guess which had reached her first. Caught up in the heart of the roaring whirlwind of the clashing powers of lake, meadow and forest, Sinead was knocked to her knees.
The gale whipped her hair into her face, showering her in a hail of forest leaves, of forest sights and scents.
She sensed invisible torrents of water beating at her, tossing her helplessly about like a twig in a stream.
The brightness of the sunlight was blinding, burning, scorching through her.
With angry fury the three magics fought over her, until Sinead thought surely when they were done there would be no scraps of her left for any to have. Perhaps that was their intention?
