by Roz Marshall
CONTENTS
Copyright
Title page
Description
Quote
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
A note from the author
Acknowledgements
Copyright © 2016 Roz Marshall
All rights reserved.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. You must not circulate this book in any format.
The characters, places and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
First published, 2016
Inspired by bestselling author Anthea Sharp's world of FEYLAND. Discover more at http://antheasharp.com/the-feyland-series/
Find out more about the author and upcoming books online at www.rozmarshall.co.uk
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Kelpie Curse
The Celtic Fey, Book 2
by
Roz Marshall
About this book
Legends aren't supposed to come to life. Someone should've told that to the developers of the virtual reality game Feyland.
And your life isn't supposed to become a legend. But for Elphin the minstrel, his life resembles a fairytale. One of those dark fairy stories that gives you nightmares and wakes you screaming in the dark.
Trapped by an evil crone in the icy wastes of the faerie realm, his future seems hopeless—until he meets Scots teenager Corinne MacArthur, who stumbles into his life via the high-tech computer game Feyland.
She holds the key to his deliverance—if he can only keep her safe from the otherworldly creatures who inhabit the realm.
It's no small task for a peaceable troubadour in a land which blurs the lines between reality and fantasy, where magic is a stock-in-trade, and where the improbable is a daily occurrence…
“Once you eliminate the impossible,
whatever remains, no matter how improbable,
must be the truth.”
Arthur Conan Doyle, Sherlock Holmes
CHAPTER 1
STANDING IN THE shadow of the silvery rowan trees, Elphin's heart was heavy as he watched the girl and the unicorn stride off down the hill. If only I could go with them. But this magical circle was a boundary between worlds—a boundary that he was unable to cross.
In the fading light of the Scottish gloaming, the glow of happiness surrounding Corinne and the fey animal was almost palpable. What if she was so entranced with the grey that she never returned to Feyland?
A niggle of worry ate at his soul. What if I never see her again? The unicorn, in its non-magical horse form, would surely ease the burden of sorrow she so obviously carried. So what reason would she have to return?
And what would become of him if she did not?
She did not know—could not know—that their fates were inextricably linked, improbable as it sounded; or that Feyland was not the simple game she seemed to think it was.
But he knew, to his cost, just how treacherous the fey realm could be. And he had discovered, in these last days, that he needed Corinne's help to escape his dark fate.
As the horse and the girl vanished from sight, her hand on its glossy white flank and her soft brown hair gleaming in the sun's last rays, Elphin squared his shoulders and turned back towards the forest. Maybe the unicorn will be good for her, in her real world. He wanted her to be happy, he truly did.
In the meantime, he would just have to survive here for another hour, another day, another week, another… Please, not another year! Now that he had seen a glimpse of what might come to pass, of the real world so tantalisingly out-of-reach beyond these borders, he did not know if he could bear it here much longer. But for things to change, he needed Corinne to come back into Feyland, and he needed her to…
With a sigh, he looked down at his tattered tunic and his ruined body. He could not alter what Corinne would choose to do; he could only hope.
Hope.
And dream.
CHAPTER 2
PHEMIE GLANCED AT the carriage clock on the mantelpiece and frowned. Who could be knocking on her door so late at night?
Knotting her burgundy dressing gown tightly around her waist and stuffing her feet into paisley-patterned slippers, she put her book down and shuffled through the hallway of the farmhouse, pulling a stout walking stick out of the umbrella stand as she passed. Just in case.
The security chain only gave her about three inches of view, but the sight on her front step caused a sharp intake of breath.
Opening the door properly, she moved into the porch.
"Mrs Irving," said the teenage girl standing in the pool of brightness from the security light outside. Dark skinny jeans and a canvas jacket made her slight frame seem even slimmer than she actually was, and her long, chestnut-brown hair fell in a curtain half over her face, in that way youngsters seemed to favour these days.
"It's Miss, actually." Phemie folded her arms.
The girl coloured. "Sorry, Miss Irving. I'm Corinne, Midnight's owner." Her face twisted. "Ex-owner. Corinne MacArthur?"
"Aye, I recognised you." Poor lassie's horse died last month. She jerked her chin at the horse standing behind the teenager. "Did one of the horses get out?"
"Uh—no." Corinne glanced back at the grey. "I— I found him. I was out for a walk and he was grazing there on his own. Nobody was around—I shouted and shouted. So I thought he'd be safer if I brought him here." She put a hand on the horse's nose. "Can he stay at the farm tonight? I'm sure he won't be any trouble. I can look for his owners again in the morning."
Stepping down from the porch, Phemie cast a quick eye over the grey. He seemed uninjured. "You're sure he hadn't dumped his rider somewhere?"
Corinne shrugged. "He wasn't wearing a saddle."
Or bridle. "And he just followed you here?"
Wrapping a protective arm around the horse's nose, Corinne nodded.
Phemie narrowed her eyes again, then glanced up at the sky. Wisps of cloud were dark fragments against the deep navy of almost-dark. The good weather was holding. "Put him in the front paddock with the sheep. He can't cause too much trouble there. We'll sort him out in the daylight."
"Thanks!" The girl's smile lit her elfin features, and she gently pushed the horse's nose around, steering him towards the gate.
"You will come back in the morning, won't you?" Phemie would be busy with the harvest tomorrow. She didn't need to be worrying about an orphan horse.
Corinne stopped and looked back over her shoulder. "Of course." The horse's feet stopped moving as soon as the girl halted, like they were somehow in tune with each other.
"Where did you say you found him again?"
"On Chessaig Hill."
Chessaig. Faerie Hill. Curiouser and curiouser. She pursed her lips.
"Put him in the field. I'll see you in the morning."
-::-
"There you are!" Her mother's voice was sharper than normal as Corinne pulled her key out of the lock and closed the front door behind her. "I was getting worried about you. Where were you till this time of night?"
"I'm sorry, Mum." Corinne shrugged off her jacket and hung it on the birch coat rack by the door. "Something… something strange happened on my walk."
"Strange?" The word came out an octave higher than normal, and mother's eyebrows disappeared somewhere up under her hairline. "Did someone…? I knew I shouldn't have let you go out so late on your own! Are you okay? What happened? Do I need to call the police?"
Holding her palms in front of her, Corinne took a step backwards. "No, nothing happened. Well, nothing bad, anyway."
"What!" Mother's eyes were starting to bulge, and a pulse was throbbing in her neck.
I'm not doing a very good job of explaining this. She should've rehearsed what she was going to say on the way home, instead of daydreaming about the unicorn. At this rate, mother was going to have a heart attack before she even had the chance to ask if she could keep him. "I just— I found a horse. A lost horse. At the top of Chessaig—you know—"
"Midnight's favourite ride," her mother interrupted. "Yes, I remember. So, you found a horse. All on its own?"
"Yes, no sign of a rider. No saddle, no bridle."
"Are you sure? Why would it be on its own? Are you sure there wasn't a rider lying injured somewhere?"
"I'm sure. Maybe he escaped from a field somewhere." Or escaped from a magical land somewhere.
"So what did you do with it?" Mother had calmed somewhat, and her face was only pink, rather than bright red.
"I took him down to the farm. Mrs—Miss Irving let me put him in the front paddock. I have to go back in the morning and we'll look for his owners."
"We should phone the police. Just in case some poor rider's gone missing." Stepping towards the telephone mounted on the wall by the kitchen, mother started punching numbers into the plastic handset. "What colour did you say it was?"
"Grey." Then Corinne remembered how confusing that was for non-horsey people. "As in white. About sixteen hands." She held up a hand at head-height, palm downwards.
"Breed?"
Unicorn. But she couldn't say that. "Thoroughbred cross, probably."
Five minutes later, her mother had reported the lost horse and established that nobody had reported any missing horses or people in the local area. "We're to phone again in the morning," she said, replacing the phone. "Just in case anyone reports a missing horse overnight."
That would be a bit of a miracle.
Wasn't it strange, how she was now accepting the seemingly impossible—a unicorn from a virtual reality game stepping through a stone circle and appearing in real-life Scotland as a white horse—as reality? But this whole day had been unreal, from the moment she'd gone back into the game and found the unicorn in Feyland, to Elphin being chased by the rabid dogs of the Wild Hunt and them both escaping on the unicorn across Rainbow Bridge just like Tam O'Shanter on his horse. It was like her dreams—or nightmares—from the previous night had come true.
Except that today had a happy ending.
Remembering the unicorn's velvety nose nuzzling her palm, a glow of optimism filled her chest. Maybe the girls at the farm would stop giving her a hard time about Midnight's death. After all, it hadn't been her fault he'd got sick; perhaps they'd see that now.
"Mum," she crossed her fingers behind her back, "if nobody claims the horse, could I… Could I keep him?" The last words came out in a rush. "You did say I could get a new horse for my birthday?"
Her mother looked sideways at her. "I thought you said you weren't ready to get another one?"
"I didn't think I was." She shrugged. "But this one is… special."
Brown eyes gazed levelly at her for a few seconds. "We'll see. But don't get your hopes up. If he's that special, I'm sure someone will report him missing."
Yeah. Right.
'Officer, it's the Faerie Queen here. I'm calling to report a missing unicorn.' Like that would go down well.
She turned for the stairs. "I'm off to bed now, Mum. G'night."
"Good night, dear. Sleep well."
I hope so. No more bad dreams. The warm glow in her chest bloomed again. Just dreams. Good dreams, of long, hot summer days and a handsome white unicorn. And hope for their future together.
Bounding up the stairs two at a time, she smiled to herself. I deserve some good luck for a change.
CHAPTER 3
BUT HER DREAMS weren't good. More like nightmares.
The slavering hellhounds from the Wild Hunt were in full war cry, chasing the mysterious minstrel she'd first seen at the Bright King's court in Feyland.
In her dream, the minstrel raced frantically through the dense forest, copper curls plastered to his sweat-sheened forehead and plaid cloak streaming behind him like a flag. The hounds were at his heels when a blue-faced hag appeared from nowhere and threw up an arm. Instantly, a wall of ice formed behind the minstrel, stopping the hunt in its tracks—and entombing him in its freezing clutches.
Corinne woke with her heart racing, the memory of his pleading green eyes searing her very soul. It had seemed so real. Had it just been a dream?
The other night, her dreams of racing through the forest on the back of a white unicorn had come true—in the Feyland game, at least. Could the minstrel's plight have been real?
When his eyes had locked on to hers the first time she'd seen him in Feyland, she'd felt an inexplicable connection—as if they were somehow destined to meet.
Perhaps she should see if she could visit the sim café again this afternoon, just one more time. In case the minstrel needed her.
But first I've got a lost horse to sort out.
Throwing the quilt back, she jumped out of bed.
Feyland would have to wait.
-::-
Elphin awoke to blistering cold. Again.
Throwing off the fur he was using as a coverlet and fastening his woollen cloak with fumbling fingers, he pushed his feet into stiff leather boots and hurried over to the hearth. Still a few embers glowing. Good.
A handful of tinder, some strong puffs of breath and a latticework of twigs did the trick. Orange flames began to dance and twirl towards the roof of the large cave, throwing a wavering golden glow onto the silvery granite walls. Spindly stalactites jutted menacingly from the ceiling like dragon's teeth, dripping glacial water onto the rocky floor below. Guarding the entrance, two huge white wolves lay with one ear cocked and one eye open even as they slept.
Elphin shivered and pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders as an icy blast drove past the large boulder that shielded the cave's opening from the frozen wastes outside.
Here in Cailleach's domain on the slopes of Schiehallion, Elphin felt permanently cold; nothing he did could warm his flesh. It was only when he travelled to the Bright Kingdom or Dark Realm that his body returned to a normal temperature. But the courts of the fey king and queen were equally treacherous, for different reasons, and he could not relax there either.
Nearby, a shadowy pile of furs stirred, and a scrawny arm stretched out; bony blue fingers flexing like the claws on a raptor. She is awake.
He busied himself filling a kettle with water and hanging it over the fire pit. Everything would need to be just so. He had been walking a thin line lately, and if he gave the witch any further cause for ire, he might find himself not just cursed, but permanently incapacitated.
Or worse.
-::-
Sunlight filtered through the trees as Corinne hurried down the track past the farmhouse. Already there was the promise of heat in the air; a dry warmth filled with the smell of drying grass and the buzzing of industrious insects.
In the far field, a combine harvester was already at work, weaving up and down the field in its methodical pattern. Ahead of it lay golden corn
shimmering in the faint breeze; behind it was shorn yellow stubble bristling like two-day growth on a Scandinavian chin. From the combine's side protruded a swan-like funnel, which disgorged its hoard of barley grains into a high-sided trailer pulled by a tractor carefully matching pace with the huge green machine.
The low thrum of the engines was a soundtrack that masked the noise of the latch when Corinne opened the wooden gate to the paddock and peered around the hedge. There he is!
A small flock of spindly-legged black and white Jacob sheep were munching contentedly on the short grass of the front field. Right in their midst was the grey, his coat looking ghostly white against the creamier colour of the sheep fleeces. Ghost! That's what I'll call him. Yes, he needed a name, and that suited him.
Throwing his head up, his keen brown eyes turned in her direction, nostrils flaring to catch her scent. Before she'd even taken one step into the paddock, he came trotting towards her, halting by the gate and dropping his nose into her hand.
Corinne rubbed his forehead in greeting. "Morning, boy. I thought I'd call you Ghost. Do you like that name?" He twitched a nostril. "I think it suits you. You were like a ghost when I saw you last night up on Chessaig." He bobbed his head. "Now, can I put this on you?" She held up the headcollar she'd been carrying and gently slipped it over his nose. "I'm afraid you'll need to behave like the other horses here or people will start to ask questions. Okay?" He bobbed his head again, as if he agreed.
Opening the gate, Corinne led Ghost up to the farmyard and tied him to a ring on the wall outside her stable. Worn cobbles poked through the packed earth outside the solid stone building, and in another part of the farm someone was sweeping rhythmically. Overhead, swallows swooped through the air, chasing invisible prey like fighter pilots in an aerial dogfight.
Fetching a hoof pick out of the grooming box in her stall, Corinne had bent over to pick up Ghost's left front foot when a snide voice behind her made her jump.
