Silver Hollow

by Jennifer Silverwood

  Faye and Ginuog spent the first few months after trying to learn the truth of what happened to Jo and James. In their infrequent visits, Amie managed to coax out pieces of her friend’s old joviality. But they were both marked by sorrow of a different kind. Faye held her tightly before they departed again for the human world.

  “You know you’re my family, just as much as Ben is now,” she said.

  Pulling back, Amie replied, “You’ll always have a home here, no matter where you go, Faye.”

  Faye nodded and smiled one of her old smiles. “You’ll be so sick of me eventually you’ll regret you ever said that, Wentworth.” She stepped back and checked over her gear one last time.

  Ginuog chuckled behind them, once again in his human guise, and with barely any effort snatched the dagger from her belt to rest near her cleavage. “Don’t think I’d say bored was the word for how we occupied our time, my little cougar.”

  While Faye grunted a muffled retort all the way down the road, Amie watched them leave until her eyes strained to see their silhouettes within the forest.

  Dearg was her main source of comfort once her last friend from her human life was gone. While he wasn’t taming his dragons, he had taken to warming her bed, now their binding had been given by Henry. Had she known her father’s intentions in the heat of that moment and had he not been on the brink of death, Amie would have been upset. But there was little to be upset about while being married to the Dragon King.

  Cook refused to be treated like the potential heir to the estate he was. After all, he insisted, he didn’t have any bloody gifts like Amie. The union of a hobgoblin and Sidhe was forbidden because their nixies tended to clash and mutate in other directions. Everyone already knew Cook was more than a head higher than the other hobgoblins and his strength greater than either people’s combined. There was a reason he was such a talented cook after all. But he was happy -to take on more responsibility and shelve the majority of the cooking for another staff member.

  Now that Rachel Elisedd Underhill admitted to having loved Alastair most of her life, she had become the driving force behind his new confidence. Neither one ever intended on spilling the secrets of their recipes to each other or anyone else.

  For the first time since the childhood she was slowly remembering, Amie knew she belonged. Even if Grimwich Rumplekin had offered to give back her laptop back she wouldn’t have accepted it this time. She no longer had a need to play make-believe with the world. Now it was her turn to live the adventure so long denied and so fervently craved.

  It would be nice to report she lived happily ever after till the end of her days. But such cheap, cop-out one-liners belong to other uncomplicated fairy tales.

  Not even a week after the smoke had cleared and winter was whistling through the trees taunting with its blankets of snow, Amie realized she still had a choice to make.

  Morcant told her, now that she was a Queen, she could never stray very far from her home. Her life was bound to Wenderdowne and its tenants now, to the cares of all the peoples in the Hollow depending on her. She took Morcant’s advice seriously, especially after learning Henry had stayed so long with her because there was more between them than a simple denial of attraction.

  So she set up shop in her father’s old study and begun the tedious process of rebuilding. The forests were graciously free of gremlins, the harvest coming in at record rates thanks to Amie’s inherited gifts and the people settling in nicely for the long winter.

  With their grieving barely begun she was determined to spend the winter binding her odd crew into a family.

  Her mother told her otherwise. For the first time in a century the elusive Dameri Hawkeye and her father, the human King Arthur, made their way to the great house. Arthur might have been a senile old coot, halfway living in his youthful glory days and half in the present, but he remembered his little magpie fully now. Apparently she had spent much of her time riding on his shoulders and climbing trees in the orchard. During their walk through Periwinkle’s garden he promised to teach Amie the art of the sword during her next visit to Xcalibure. He was delighted to make the acquaintance of the gnome and her faerie friend Puck, both of whom she was relieved to find unscratched from the whole golem affair.

  She was unprepared when Dameri later pulled her aside and literally handed her the awful truth. Dameri had been an active messenger between the two worlds ever since Amie was lost to her. Just because matters had been smoothed over in Silver Hollow did not mean the ripple effects of the attack were not affecting the Vale. There was a vast and unexplored realm she was protecting that the house had been guarding for time immemorial. Many claimed those who lived in the border lands had grown decadent and listless. Maybe they were right? After all, the Exiled had managed to gather enough of a force to almost break through one of the seven gates to the Vale. If the Emerald Eyes had not been keeping watch more than a few would have been lost.

  The letter she brought to Amie was plain enough. Trouble was brewing inside the Vale. No one new but the messengers had ventured past its borders in a thousand years and the evil trapped within was lashing out. The Council of Ten Sovereigns requested her attendance at their next meeting, without delay, to help them resolve this unnamed issue. And according to Dameri, ignoring a Council summons was like signing your own death sentence.

  …

  This was how Amie found herself standing at the end of a vaguely familiar garden pathway, wearing travel gear and banked by her closest friends. Worrying her lip with another quick tug of her teeth, she recognized the gate she had only noticed in passing before. She had always assumed it led to some abandoned garden, but never would have guessed this was the infamous gate to the Vale.

  Dearg shifted on his leather-booted feet, wrapping his arm more securely around her waist and digging her side into the blade strapped to his thigh. “You don’t have to do this now, if you’re not ready.”

  She smiled warmly up at him. “After everything we just went through, babe, I think I’ve learned you’re never really ready.”

  Behind them, Slaine, in his human guise again, smiled cannily at them and said, “You are the Key, Jessamiene. Ye were born for this, lassie.”

  Amie hoped he was right. She hoped Slaine, Underhill and Alastair could manage the estate in her absence.

  Reluctantly she allowed Dearg to lead her closer to the gate. It hummed, glowed all around its solid wooden edges as if the border was the only thing keeping the sun blocked. It shone silvery as moonlight over the endlessly carved patterns, reworking the ring’s ancient symbol over and again. She shivered with anticipation, gripped Dearg’s hand tighter and felt as if nothing else existed, just she and the Freargde and the Vale’s gate.

  “Are you ready?” he said, his voice echoing along with the whispers of a forgotten song. The music was coming from behind that door.

  She nodded and felt the tickle of his ancient power prodding her own into action. Instantly she knew where to insert the key in the centerpiece of the wood. She often wondered if Emrys had planted it on her small-town Texas street, knowing she would one day stand here like this. The gate would only ever open by this key, by her hand, until her inheritance passed to the next generation.

  The door opened with a fresh breeze, falling into the gated world and carrying luscious scents and colors so full she couldn’t breathe. Blinking, Amie struggled to see past the bright white light.

  Dearg’s lips were at her ear. “When you came to us you saw things as you wanted to see them. Because we wanted you to have the chance to dream we were hesitant to wake you. And you’re still dreaming. There is a world grander beyond your wildest imaginings beyond the gate. Now you must waken, love. Open your eyes.”

  Amie hesitated, shuddered as her vision faded in and out. In place of normal images she saw colors rather than light and shadow, objects illuminated from the inside out. “What will happen?”

  Dearg’s smile was pain-filled and broken, his mask gone forever from her gaze.
“Everything if you wish it. Just open your eyes, Jessamiene…your real eyes…”

  She breathed in the remnant of desecration around them, felt their pain and renewed hope, and awakened.

  …

  Richard clutched the motionless form of his love even closer, eyes boiling with rage. “Kindness? You named us as spies to the Emperor! We’ve been running for our lives ever since! How can you still name us your friends?”

  Rupert towered over them both, ominous, spittle coating his words. “She never loved you! Have you not realized yet your precious Mary is the Lady Desdemona? That she lured you to her, making you all believe she wanted to betray her own countrymen, when she has been my wife these two-and-ten years!”

  Richard trembled, shook as a beast roared inside of him. His voice sounded with the distant cannon yet overpowered it. “LIES!”

  ‘Bah!’ Lord Rupert spat. ‘Lies indeed! You only wish to believe she cared for you! It is all a game, my friend. Desdemona could care less for you than she could I! She is nothing but a backstabbing whore for the highest bidder. Were it not for me she would have turned you in long ago!” Triumph gleamed in Rupert’s red eyes.

  Were it not for Mary’s defenseless form in his arms Richard would have already cut the dastardly villain in two.

  Lord Rupert swayed on his feet and Richard saw then he would not last the night. Perhaps he was only out for blood, after all? Staggering, he struggled to stand with Mary’s dead weight in his arms. Yet his gift filled him even then, giving him the strength he needed for this one last task. Wings sprouted from his back, golden like the sun.

  Rupert laughed triumphantly as his own pair of black leather-skinned wings curved menacingly over them both. Their swords clashed, heavenly steel against steel, and even in his weakened state, Rupert was clearly stronger now.

  Mary stirred in the crook of his arm, whispering in her true French accent, “Richard?”

  Rupert snarled and Richard fought even harder, knowing now who was dearest to her heart. Yet just before he could end it, before the crippling blow, a shot rang clearly out over the field. Man’s war had spilled over into their affairs again, this time with tragic consequences.

  Mary screamed, fully aware as Richard simultaneously sliced off Rupert’s head and fell to the earth. She crawled weakly over him and the gaping hole where his heart had been. Her tears blurred with his as she kissed him goodbye and whispered, “Now and forever, my love.”

  …

  Later, the Lady Desdemona, under the guise of an English seamstress named Mary Taylor, was bequeathed a vast and rich estate. The village surrounding Lord Richard, Baronet, whispered rumors of the mistress who had inherited their master’s estate. Some even thought it curious she preferred to spend her days within the Abbey and not south in her London hometown.

  The daughter she gave birth to would one day be known as the kindest of all their mistresses.

  And the servants of Netherby Abbey still tell tale of the ghost of their master who found peace with his beloved in death when it had been stolen away in life.

  And they lived.

  A Glossary of the Vale

  A Not-Quite-Complete Basic Guide

  A

  Acornip- favored nut grown by gnomes only of the Hollow; Hobgoblins have not the patience to crack them.

  B

  Bamboozled- confusing, most outrageous

  Belletine- An honorary House of the Borderland and one of the five great families left.

  Bildgedragon- legendary striped dragon; A tale told to frighten hobgoblin children to obedience. It is actually a hobgoblin nickname for true dragons, though it is unknown if any still exist.

  Bilge Scum- comparing one to the filthy underbelly of a ship

  Blackguarded- scoundrel

  Blushsheckled- An ailment attributed to the after effects of honing one’s inner nixy. It can take on the appearance of the pox in more serious cases, especially when left unattended.

  Bogwren- A pesky creature that lives in the bogs of the Veil, known for its foul temper and rank stench.

  Brimbled- Being concerned primarily with nitpicking foolishly through things, generally applied to brownies

  Brimbling- Akin to brimbled, concerning a multitudinous bundle.

  Bristle- A type of pesky thorn that thrives within the Hollow. Can refer to a state of mind.

  Bristlethorn- A particularly tough thorn that grows in wild gardens.

  Brambling- rushing through with much noise and little grace

  Bushwickle- an annoying shrub that grows near flobbergidit homes

  C

  Chuckling- An individual afflicted with the compulsion to “chuck” things out windows and into walls. First made popular by Chuck Wenderdowne, the Mad.

  Crunch-munchies- sweets

  D

  Dishwakling- The act of performing necessary tasks, such as dishwashing, however tedious and time consuming.

  Dickleweeds- A weed that refused to be removed from a garden once it’s taken root. Generally the first sign of a flobbergidit’s nest taking root.

  Dumplekins- Adorable offspring of the buck-toothed rabbits that thrive within the Vale.

  E

  Everlackadaisicalled- ever slothful or lazy

  Epperchips- An ancient phrase, perhaps originally stemmed from the Elder Tongue; a carryover from the first age.

  F

  Fantasmatic- to be filled with a joy beyond fantastic

  ‘farthe knockers’- Like most brownie phrases, the meaning of this remains ambiguous to most Sidhe scholars.

  Faeries- Small, mischievous, occasionally helpful creatures. They are beings of almost pure nixy and highly unpredictable and yet plant life flourishes around them. Many gardeners therefore attempt to coax them with inviting homes. Humans mistake them for kind spirits.

  Filsh- wastes

  'flachelants be knocking'- the effects of passing gas

  Flitterflies- Tiny winged insects, comparable to gnats, though far less annoying. Favored pets of the faeries.

  Flobbergidits- small, ugly little creatures. They are fond of flowers and faeries as their choicest delicacies.

  Foshimmeny- A natural climber/manipulator.

  Frazzleging- So fantastic, the person or object, renders its viewers to shock.

  Freargde- The most feared of all other peoples and most ancient of beings. Only they of the race of dragon managed to survive, save those who hid their own kind. It is unknown where they came from, only that they are the protectors of humanity.

  G

  Ginger Lice- pesky bugs that tend to target hobgoblins

  Gooseberry- sweetest fruit in the Vale; called faerie food by humans

  Gooseyjuice- fermented drink made from gooseberries

  Greatfeather- a generation skipped down a Gryphon’s familial line

  H

  Harbuckle- refers to the width of a little person’s step

  Hogswallup- a loud keening that wild hogs and hobgoblins share in similar sound; not considered a kind term

  Hogswillow- The first known home of the hobgoblins that was taken over by a powerful Sidhe family in ancient times. Many hobgoblins moved to Wenderdowne lands, but most were too poor to do so.

  I

  Ishilling- thrill inducing

  K

  'kip your chide'- “hold off your chatter”

  Kipling- a fruit only found in Wenderdowne’s orchards

  Krumplekined- akin to a Rumplekin, the family whom derived their surname from the phrase. An ancient band of mischief makers from the Elder Age, krumplekined refers to one addled by this lost people’s influence.

  L

  Lackadaise- ancestor of the English waltz; a dance native to Wenderdowne

  Lowetide- one of the five great houses left to guard the Borderlands

  N

  Nixy, (Nixing&Nixed)- the inner energy within every being, other than human; magic or what traditionalists call “the Creator's gifts”. Humans have forgotten how to use theirs, a pity, f
or theirs was once the most powerful of all.

  O

  Ollyfeathers- a very rare flightless bird, known for being incredibly stupid; colloquially, it may refer to anyone with little sense.

  P

  Pish- posh

  Poshumicked- overcome

  Pussywillows- A type of willow tree that faeries are fond of nesting in.

  S

  Scrimple- term used for the crème that builds over cow's milk when left to stand; generally applying to something as certain as cow's crème.