by Roz Marshall
The sound of wellington boots clumping towards them interrupted her worries. Seconds later, Phemie appeared around the corner, brandishing a small booklet. Ghost's passport.
"Here." Phemie handed Corinne the paperwork, her face wreathed in a smile.
Corinne fished in her pocket and pulled out the credit chip mother had given her.
The old woman shook her head, taking Corinne's hand in an awkward grip. "A present from me to you. As a thank-you for saving my broth—son," she corrected herself. Phemie looked up at Elphin, a pink tinge appearing in her cheeks. "And making an old woman very happy."
Corinne looked from one to the other, her forehead creasing. "But you don't need to do that. I—I was just playing a game."
Elphin raised an eyebrow.
"Well, I thought I was," Corinne added.
"Game or no, you brought my brother back. And now Corriewater Farm can stay in our family. Now I've got a family again. That's priceless to me."
Corinne turned the passport over in her hands, her brain churning. She knew the old lady had been struggling to find ways to make the farm more profitable, and that she'd been saving for a horse transport lorry. Buying Ghost would surely have set back those plans. But Corinne didn't want to offend her by refusing the gift. Was there a way she could somehow get Father to pay for Ghost? He could easily afford it.
She looked up. "Tell you what. I'll accept Ghost as a gift if you'll let me speak to my father about organising a loan for you to buy the lorry. His bank does business loans all the time."
Elphin put a hand on Phemie's back. "You should, sis." Phemie glanced sharply at him. "Phemie, sorry. And I could take my lorry test and drive it for you. It'd let me contribute to the finances."
"No you don't!" the old woman replied indignantly. "You need to go back to the Music School. Resume your studies."
He shook his head. "How am I going to do that? The Elphin Irving who was a student there died over forty years ago, as far as they're concerned." With a quick look at Corinne he continued, "I need to start a new chapter in my life."
"But you've got to keep singing!" Corinne couldn't bear the idea of his wonderful voice going to waste.
"Maybe you can help me with that. But later." His eyes twinkled. "First, we need to celebrate you getting your horse back."
A grin spread across Corinne's face. He was right. The world was back on its axis, and Feyland was back in its box—or in its sim café. She need never play it again. But Ghost was hers once more, like he always should have been, and they should commemorate the occasion. "Yes! We totally do need to celebrate. And I've got the perfect idea just how we could do that!"
CORINNE STOOD WITH her back to the stone circle, Ghost's reins in one hand and Elphin standing beside her. In the distance, the tops of the Perthshire hills gleamed white with snow, and she shivered, wishing she'd worn gloves.
Coming up here was meant to be a catharsis for him. For her. For all of them—Ghost included. Lay to rest some…ghosts. Ironically.
"This was Midnight's favourite ride," she said, lacing her fingers through Elphin's. "My horse that died. Before I got Ghost. It was where I scattered his ashes; where I came to remember him. And where I saw you. Where I came to see you."
He nodded. "I came here—there," he pointed at the granite blocks, "to see you too."
She gave a yelp. "You told me you went there for the peace and quiet!"
Elphin pulled her closer. "I couldn't admit to you, back then, that I was in love with you. You thought I was a beast."
The breath caught in her throat. "You were in love with me?" Her voice came out in a squeak.
"From the first moment I saw you hiding behind that tree while I was singing." He kissed her forehead. "It was that old cliché. Love at first sight."
A wellspring of warmth rose in Corinne's chest, chasing away the cold air that surrounded them. He loves me. Back in Feyland when he'd been dying, she never knew if he'd heard her say it. But this was the first time he'd said it to her. "I love you too," she whispered.
"I know."
She leaned back, so she could see his face properly. "Could you hear me, back at the Bright Court, when you were injured?"
"Nope."
"Well, how d'you know, then?"
He shrugged. "It was the only way my curse would be broken. Someone had to fall in love with me. Me, not the minstrel. So when I transformed, I knew."
Eyes twinkling and lips inviting, he bent his head towards hers.
She closed her eyes, tummy tingling in anticipation of his kiss.
But before they could embrace, Ghost gave a startled whinny and dragged backwards on the reins, pulling them apart. His nostrils flaring, he stared fixedly at a spot in the trees.
Corinne followed his gaze. And spotted what had startled him.
A white wolf.
With red eyes.
Here in real life, padding silently down the hill, heading towards the distant snow-capped mountains.
Cailleach's wolf.
Corinne came out in a cold sweat, remembering the frost on the ground this morning, remembering the flakes of snow falling last night, remembering her nightmare vision of the eldritch army, and remembering what Merlin had called the blue hag who'd caused so much trouble for them in Feyland.
The Witch of Winter.
Frantically, she scanned the trees for danger, sighting down the shaft of the arrow nocked to her maplewood bow. Which had magically appeared in her hands. Again.
But the wolf had disappeared, and he appeared to be alone.
Beside her, Ghost had settled—still alert, but no longer frightened. So perhaps the danger had passed.
For now.
Her face somber, she looked up at Elphin. "You know that easy life you were looking forward to? I think you might have to put that on hold."
Pointing down the hill, she indicated the direction the wolf had gone. "Looks like things from the realm are leaking into real life. Looks like the barrier has been breached." She grimaced. "Looks like the witch is here now." She planted her feet, flicking the hair off her shoulders. In her other hand, the bow hummed with life, its string vibrating like a harp. "Looks like we're about to have a fight on our hands."
-::-
What happens next? Find out by reading 'King's Tears':
Corinne and Elphin's adventures conclude in 'King's Tears':
After a daring rescue from the high-tech computer game Feyland, Scots teenager Corinne MacArthur looks forward to a quieter life and time to enjoy her magical grey horse and her budding romance with dreamy Elphin Irving.
Music student Elphin thinks he's seen the last of the blue-faced hag who ensorcelled him in Feyland. But Cailleach, the legendary Witch of Winter, has other ideas. And greater ambitions. Ambitions which spread beyond the faerie realm and into the real-world landscapes of Scotland.
If the witch has her way, whatever remains of the mortal world she once knew will be hers—and covered in a brain-numbing permafrost.
But she's reckoned without Corinne and Elphin. Together they've learned to be heroes, vanquishing otherworldly creatures and legendary foes. And now they must face their most dangerous enemy yet, taking arms against her magical forces in a battle which will determine the fate of Scotland once and for all…
King's Tears will be published in 2017
-::-
Read on to discover the ancient legend of Elphin Irving, the Faeries' Cupbearer, which was part of the inspiration for this book and The Celtic Fey series.
A note from the author
Thank you for reading, and I really hope you enjoyed the story. If so, please take a moment to leave a review and tell a friend!
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About the author
Roz lives in Scotland with her husband and the obligatory dog and cat. Her writing experience include
s screenwriting, songwriting, web pages and even sentiments for greeting cards!
Books: www.rozmarshall.co.uk/books
Facebook: www.facebook.com/rozmarshallauthor
Acknowledgements
Thank you to Mairi, Anthea and Larry, my beta-reading and editing team, who added extra polish and value to my scribblings.
Huge thanks go to Anthea Sharp, without whom this story in her world of Feyland would never have happened. Check out her books at http://antheasharp.com/the-feyland-series/.
And finally, a special mention goes to House of Soutra and their coffees and cakes, which helped fuel many chapters of this book!
The Celtic Fey series:
#1 Unicorn Magic
Get Unicorn Magic on Amazon
In Feyland, not everything is as it seems...
Feyland: a new computer game that allows Scottish teenager Corinne MacArthur to escape the sadness haunting her everyday life after losing a loved one. It's a game where legends come to life, the lines between reality and fantasy become blurred, and the impossible becomes—probable?
#2 Kelpie Curse
Buy Kelpie Curse on Amazon
Legends aren’t supposed to come to life
Cursed by an evil crone and trapped in the icy wastes of the faerie realm, all peace-loving Elphin wants is to return home. But the terms of his enchantment make him despair for his future—until Scots teenager Corinne MacArthur stumbles into his world. And into mortal danger.
Aspiring show-jumper Corinne has been playing the virtual reality game Feyland to escape the sadness haunting her everyday life. But the game is more than just a game, and the legendary creatures she meets are more than just legends. Legends that can bargain for your talents—or take your life.
To save Corinne from her untimely fate, Elphin needs to become a hero. He needs to keep her safe from the otherworldly creatures who inhabit the realm. He needs to become more than just a legend...
#3 Faerie Quest
Order Faerie Quest on Amazon
Playing the virtual reality game Feyland wasn't supposed to turn out so—uh, real. But when things from the game start appearing in everyday life—like a unicorn, or Elphin, the strange creature who saved her life and became her friend—Scots teenager Corinne MacArthur has a problem. Of epic proportions.
And then she learns the truth about Elphin.
It's a truth that shatters her illusions about the world she knows and sends her racing back to Feyland on a life-or-death rescue mission. But Feyland is a game where trickery is an art form and magic is the currency. A game which can deceive the unwary and trap the naive. A game where legends come to life and shadowy figures haunt your dreams.
And Corinne's dreams are coming true. But not in a good way. They're more like a waking nightmare, and it will take all her talent—and more—to escape the otherworldly creatures who've invaded her life. A life which is about to become even more complicated…
#4 King's Tears
King's Tears will be published in 2017
After a daring rescue from the high-tech computer game Feyland, Scots teenager Corinne MacArthur looks forward to a quieter life and time to enjoy her magical grey horse and her budding romance with dreamy Elphin Irving.
Music student Elphin thinks he's seen the last of the blue-faced hag who ensorcelled him in Feyland. But Cailleach, the legendary Witch of Winter, has other ideas. And greater ambitions. Ambitions which spread beyond the faerie realm and into the real-world landscapes of Scotland.
If the witch has her way, whatever remains of the mortal world she once knew will be hers—and covered in a brain-numbing permafrost.
But she's reckoned without Corinne and Elphin. Together they've learned to be heroes, vanquishing otherworldly creatures and legendary foes. And now they must face their most dangerous enemy yet, taking arms against her magical forces in a battle which will determine the fate of Scotland once and for all…
ELPHIN IRVING, THE FAERIES' CUPBEARER
REPRODUCED BELOW IS the ancient legend of Elphin Irving, the Faeries' Cupbearer, which was part of the inspiration for this book and The Celtic Fey series. With thanks to www.mysteriousbritain.co.uk.
-::-
In one of the little green loops, or bends, on the banks of Corriewater, mouldered walls, and a few stunted wild plum-trees and vagrant roses, still point out the site of a cottage and garden. A well of pure spring-water leaps out from an old tree-root before the door; and here the shepherds, shading themselves in summer from the influence of the sun, tell to their children the wild tale of Elphin Irving and his sister Phemie; and, singular as the story seems, it has gained full credence among the people where the scene is laid.
When Elphin Irving and his sister Phemie were in their sixteenth year, for tradition says they were twins, their father was drowned in Corriewater, attempting to save his sheep from a sudden swell, to which all mountain streams are liable; and their mother, on the day of her husband's burial, laid down her head on the pillow, from which, on the seventh day, it was lifted to be dressed for the same grave. The inheritance left to the orphans may be briefly described: seventeen acres of plough and pasture land, seven milk cows, and seven pot sheep (many old people take delight in odd numbers); and to this may be added seven bonnet-pieces of Scottish gold, and a broadsword and spear, which their ancestor had wielded with such strength and courage in the battle of Dryfe Sands*, that the minstrel who sang of that deed of arms ranked him only second to the Scotts and Johnstones.
The youth and his sister grow in stature and in beauty. The brent bright brow, the clear blue eye, and frank and blithe deportment of the former gave him some influence among the young women of the valley; while the latter was no less the admiration of the young men, and at fair and dance, and at bridal, happy was he who touched but her hand or received the benediction of her eye. Like all other Scottish beauties, she was the theme of many a song; and while tradition is yet busy with the singular history of her brother, song has taken all the care that rustic minstrelsy can of the gentleness of her spirit and the charms of her person.
But minstrel skill and true love tale seemed to want their usual influence when they sought to win her attention; she was only observed to pay most respect to those youths who were most beloved by her brother; and the same hour that brought these twins to the world seemed to have breathed through them a sweetness and an affection of heart and mind, which nothing could divide. If, like the virgin queen of the immortal poet, she walked "in maiden meditation fancy free," her brother Elphin seemed alike untouched with the charms of the fairest virgins in Corrie. He ploughed his field, he reaped his grain, he leaped, he ran, and wrestled, and danced, and sang, with more skill and life and grace than all other youths of the district; but he had no twilight and stolen interviews; when all other young men had their loves by their side, he was single, though not unsought, and his joy seemed never perfect save when his sister was near him. If he loved to share his time with her, she loved to share her time with him alone, or with the beasts of the field, or the birds of the air. She watched her little flock late, and she tended it early; not for the sordid love of the fleece, unless it was to make mantles for her brother, but with the look of one who had joy in its company. The very wild creatures, the deer and the hares, seldom sought to shun her approach, and the bird forsook not its nest, nor stinted its song, when she drew nigh; such is the confidence which maiden innocence and beauty inspire.
It happened one summer, about three years after they became orphans, that rain had been for awhile withheld from the earth, the hillsides began to parch, the grass in the vales to wither, and the stream of Corrie was diminished between its banks to the size of an ordinary rill. The shepherds drove their flocks to moorlands, and marsh and tarn had their reeds invaded by the scythe to supply the cattle with food. The sheep of his sister were Elphin's constant care; he drove them to the moistest pastures during the day, and he often watched them at midnight, when flocks, tempted by the sweet dewy grass
, are known to browse eagerly, that he might guard them from the fox, and lead them to the choicest herbage. In these nocturnal watchings he sometimes drove his little flock over the water of Corrie, for the fords were hardly ankle-deep; or permitted his sheep to cool themselves in the stream, and taste the grass which grew along the brink. All this time not a drop of rain fell, nor did a cloud appear in the sky.
One evening, during her brother's absence with the flock, Phemie sat at her cottage door, listening to the bleatings of the distant folds and the lessened murmur of the water of Corrie, now scarcely audible beyond its banks. Her eyes, weary with watching along the accustomed line of road for the return of Elphin, were turned on the pool beside her, in which the stars were glimmering fitful and faint. As she looked she imagined the water grew brighter and brighter; a wild illumination presently shone upon the pool, and leaped from bank to bank, and suddenly changing into a human form, ascended the margin, and, passing her, glided swiftly into the cottage. The visionary form was so like her brother in shape and air, that, starting up, she flew into the house, with the hope of finding him in his customary seat. She found him not, and, impressed with the terror which a wraith or apparition seldom fails to inspire, she uttered a shriek so loud and so piercing as to be heard at Johnstone Bank, on the other side of the vale of Corrie.
It is hardly known how long Phemie Irving continued in a state of insensibility. The morning was far advanced, when a neighbouring maiden found her seated in an old chair, as white as monumental marble; her hair, about which she had always been solicitous, loosened from its curls, and hanging disordered over her neck and bosom, her hands and forehead. The maiden touched the one, and kissed the other; they were as cold as snow; and her eyes, wide open, were fixed on her brother's empty chair, with the intensity of gaze of one who had witnessed the appearance of a spirit. She seemed insensible of any one's presence, and sat fixed and still and motionless. The maiden, alarmed at her looks, thus addressed her:--"Phemie, lass, Phemie Irving! Dear me, but this be awful! I have come to tell ye that seven of your pet sheep have escaped drowning in the water; for Corrie, sae quiet and sae gentle yestreen, is rolling and dashing frae bank to bank this morning. Dear me, woman, dinna let the loss of the world's gear bereave ye of your senses. I would rather make ye a present of a dozen mug-ewes of the Tinwald brood myself; and now I think on't, if ye'll send over Elphin, I will help him hame with them in the gloaming myself. So, Phemie woman, be comforted."
