“What’s your name?”
The dryad looked somewhat offended. “You are human, aren’t you?”
Tom shrugged. “Yep.” Then he understood. Names had power over the fae. Fergus and Aoife were likely only pseudonyms the couple used, not the names their mothers had whispered into their ear when they were born. To even ask was rude. “Sorry. What can I call you?”
With a dramatic flourish, the dryad said, “You may call me...Brón.”
“Ok, Brón. Can you look human in the mortal world?” Tom didn’t know if this dryad even had any concept of another place’s existence other than wherever or whatever they were.
“Yeah. I can do glamour to look and sound human, if that’s what you mean. I don’t get the difference between lads and lasses though, so I get odd looks.”
“Well, there are plenty of people in the mortal world who don’t identify as either living. If you help me find my way home, I’ll set you up with a life there—as long as you promise not to eat any humans, including me.”
If a tree with only slashes for eyes and a mouth could look offended, this one managed it. Even the dryad’s leaf-hair quivered with indignation. “Of course, I wouldn’t. That’s disgusting. I don’t eat things with a face.”
“I need a promise.”
Brón crossed their branches across their trunk. “Fine. I will not eat you or any human.”
Tom wanted to make the dryad promise they wouldn’t betray him, but he knew that would be pushing his luck. If he was going to escape, he needed someone who knew the lay of the castle. He lifted the grate and set it gently on the floor.
The dryad pushed to their full height, which was likely eight feet. They stretched their branches until they latched onto the rim of the oubliette and then pulled themself up and out of the hole by shrinking their limbs.
Tom replaced the grates in hopes no one would notice they’d left.
A bit of sap leaked from one of the eye slits on the dryad’s face. “You look just like him.”
“So, I’ve heard.” He tried to keep the annoyance of being compared to the legendary Tam Lin out of his tone and failed. “Where do you think the queen is keeping Aoife and Fergus?”
The dryad dramatically swept a leaf-covered branch/hand to their face, shaking their head behind the leaves. “I should have known you’d want to do something heroic rather than save your skin.”
“I want to see if I could help Fergus and Aoife.”
“I know where she’s keeping them.” The offer of help came from another grate. The voice was soft and feminine. “Same as where she held me. If you take me with you, I’ll show you where.”
The dryad shook their leaves. “No. You’re not going. You’re the reason I’m down here.”
“What did you do?” Tom asked, leaning against a wall. He felt a bit dizzy from lack of food.
“That one got me involved in an attempt to assassinate the queen.”
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” Tom quoted, sinking to the floor. Maybe if he rested for a bit, he could muster up some energy.
Brón leaned over him, the dryad’s eye slits slanting in concerned angles. “You changed colors. What’s wrong with you?”
“I’m hungry.”
“Ah, that’s easily fixed.” The dryad extended a branch. A little white bud appeared. The bud blossomed into a flower. The petals of the flowers fell away, In the flower’s place a shiny red fruit grew. The fruit looked like something akin to a plum in texture, but bright red in color, like a Red Delicious apple. Brón plucked the fruit, offering it to Tom.
“This doesn’t indebt me to you, does it?” As an English major, he’d studied fairy tales and legends and knew eating food offered in faerie was a trap. Plus eating something grown from a person’s body freaked him out a bit, even if that person was a tree.
If slits for eyes could roll, Brón’s certainly gave the impression that’s what they were doing. “No. I’m feeding you, so you don’t die on me. Humans are extremely perishable.”
Tom took a bite of the fruit. The flesh was exactly like a plum. The fruit tasted sweet, unlike anything comparable to any fruit he’d ever eaten. The juice trickled down his throat and escaped the corners of his mouth, reminding him of how thirsty he felt, but it didn’t quench his thirst entirely.
“I could get you fresh water.” The soft sweet voice offered from the oubliette.
“Yeah, and drown him in it, Niamh,” Brón retorted with a wheezy snort, “Never trust a water horse. You’ll end up drowned or in an oubliette.”
“I promise not to kill you, Tom,” Niamh said, her tone plaintive. “Free me, and I’ll let you ride my other form back to your realm.”
Tom approached the oubliette’s grate. Below a raven-haired beauty looked up at him.
“Will you help me rescue Aoife and Fergus?”
She nodded. “I will.”
He crouched down and lifted the grate off the oubliette. Standing, Tom gestured to Brón to help her, but didn’t ask for it. He figured they were even with the grate removal and the fruit. He didn’t want to owe the fae.
Brón frowned and then extended their branches to the water horse.
“Holy fuck.” Tom’s heart sank at the sight of the water horse in human form.
She stood about six feet tall. Her hair, which fell to her feet, had covered the shredded, bloodied dress. Lacerations marred her brown flesh. Whoever whipped her had no particular area of concentration, their only aim to harm.
Sad, gray eyes met his gaze. He saw in them the long suffering he’d seen in Fergus.
Still having some pride left, Niamh lifted her chin. Her voice quivered as she spoke. “The queen said I wasn’t worthy of execution, but a flogging and starving to death in the Hall of Oubliettes would do.”
Tom was a disaster queer at best, not a hero. How was he going to get out, let alone save the dryad, and the water horse, not to mention Fergus and Aoife? He ran a hand through his hair.
The water horse cleared her throat. “I’ll heal once I shift into my true form.”
“You can’t. She took your ability.” Brón said in a soft, scratchy voice. There was tenderness in their tone. They grew another fruit and handed it to her. “You’ll need your strength.”
“What does it cost you to grow that?” Tom asked.
Brón made a gesture akin to shrug. “A little light and water.”
He faced the water horse. “Let’s get Brón some light, then some water for us all.”
The odd trio walked together down the hall, passing by more oubliette grates.
“Free me,” a hoarse and brittle voice called.
The hairs on the back of Tom’s nape rose. The air seemed chiller. He knew Brón would say no, so instead he looked to Niamh for guidance, mouthing, “Should I?”
She didn’t hesitate to shake her head, raven hair flaring ever so slightly with the movement. It was the smallest of movements, almost as if she feared the occupant of the oubliette would see, but even if Tom hadn’t caught it, he took into account the way her body recoiled at the voice.
Brón wheezed a sigh of relief when they kept walking.
The grating voice called out once more, “I’ll kill the queen for you, O’ kin of Tam Lin.”
“It’s worse than the queen,” Brón warned in a harsh rasp.
The way Tom’s bowels turned to water whenever the thing down in the oubliette spoke, he would have to agree. The sooner they were out of the Hall of Oubliettes, the better.
10
After maneuvering through many strange and magical corridors, including a never-ending spiral of stone stairs, Tom and his new companions made it to a circular room. The air smelled heavily of sex and flowers. Pillows big enough to lay on were scattered all over the floor. Tapestries featured embroidered scenes, depicting what looked like fae orgies hung from the walls. In the center of the room, a table topped with an ornate golden bowl encrusted with jewels stood.
Not knowing what had occurred on the pillows, Tom resi
sted resting on one. Fresh air blew in from two windows. He crossed the room. From looking out each window, he saw they were in one of many turrets. The palace was so damned massive, he couldn’t take it all in from either view. He’d asked for light. Water would also be nice after all that climbing, but he didn’t complain.
“Here.” The water horse took a drink from the bowl and offered it to Tom. “The water I promised you.”
Tom sniffed the water. It smelled like nothing, and it tasted like tap water when he took a sip. When he slaked his thirst, he handed the bowl over to the dryad. Brón took the bowl. Somehow the bowl, which should have only had enough for a swallow, had enough for Brón to gulp and gulp and gulp.
“It is the Bowl of Plenty,” the water horse explained, as if that would mean anything to Tom.
He nodded and looked out the window. It looked like Ireland, lush green rolling hills, dramatic cliffs, the ocean creating a gray line on the horizon—but the landscape had a different vibe to it. Tom hadn’t felt it when he’d gone into that rose garden in the wood with Aoife. Or, he had and had mistaken the pulse of magic as part of his attraction to her. She’d protected him from something, but what of the other tourists?
“Are there other humans within the castle?”
The water horse shook her head slowly. “No. They were part of a little fun, but you’re the first mortal to step foot in the castle since your ancestor. He broke the queen’s heart. She won’t ever let a mortal near her except to murder them.”
Tom gripped the ledge of the windowsill. “So Fergus and Aoife, they gather mortals for the queen to murder? That’s what their tour is about?”
“If they can find their way out of the woods and back into mortal lands, they are none the wiser,” the dryad said.
“They had no choice. It is their punishment for helping Janet,” the water horse added.
Tom cocked his head. “Helped her how?”
Niamh took the bowl from Brón and set it on the table before sitting on a cushion and stretching out. The water horse was lovely from head to toe. Tom looked out the window instead of at the fae. He had bad luck with beautiful women.
“The queen had said that Janet could have Tam Lin if she’d held on to him. She never said that they could leave. She would have killed them both right away, but Fergus and Aoife helped them escape by distracting the queen so to speak.” The water horse continued, “It’s been their job ever since to provide the prey for the Wild Hunt and track down the descendants.”
He rubbed his brow, trying to think. If he just ran now, he’d have a better chance of getting home to Ariel, his maybe fiancé. Guilt knotted his stomach as he thought of the way Fergus had risked his life, putting himself bodily between the dark fae and Tom. He’d killed his own kind to protect Tom. It may have been done out of several lifetimes of guilt, not affection, but it felt like Fergus would have died there before they overtook him.
“We’re just as guilty as them,” Brón wheezed in their papery voice, “Until this one decided to lead the last group back home and got us caught.”
“I needed her weakened to get the Tear of Elphame,” the water horse snapped.
The dryad’s eye slits angled in angry slants. “I told you a thousand times your theory is wrong. You should have gone for the crown!”
The two broke out in another language like nothing Tom had ever heard before. It sounded like shuddering leaves and neighs and had texture that pricked his bare skin.
“Why do you want this Tear of Elphame?”
The two fae exchanged glances. The leaves on the dryad quivered as they shook violently.
The water horse lifted her pointed chin defiantly and settled her gaze on Tom. “Everyone who has ever dared to seek the throne attempts to steal the queen’s crown, believing it to be the source of her power. I believe her true power over Faerie lies in her amulet called the Tear of Elphame, and that is why no one succeeds.”
“We could steal both and see which is true,” Tom suggested.
“You’re going to get us all killed,” Brón cried, leaves trembling.
“Not necessarily.” The water horse smiled, her teeth a little too large for her human mouth. “Tom here is the spit of Tam Lin. We can use that to our advantage.”
Niamh and Brón used the never-ending water bowl and some questionable scented oils in a little nook in the room to scrub Tom up and oil him down. He still had bruises from the lizard-folk who had captured him. Brón grew a few pretty blossoms, insisting on placing them in Tom’s hair.
The water horse chanted some words in a language he didn’t understand. Her magic tingled against his skin.
Tom arched an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”
“Protections. No fae will be able to take your will.”
“No minor fae,” Brón corrected with a sniff. “You may be the daughter of a god, but the court is filled with sons and daughters of gods.”
“So, while I steal this necklace, you two will be freeing Fergus and Aoife?”
Niamh nodded, smoothing her soft hands down Tom’s arms. Unlike Aoife and Fergus, there was nothing human about the water horse. Something about her touch that felt at once erotic and yet alerted primal fear that screamed, “A monster is touching you!” He questioned his sanity at liking the dichotomous sensations.
“I’ll need them to fully claim the throne. You are ready as you’re going to be.”
Niamh led Tom and Brón, who seemed increasingly nervous by the way their leaves shivered, through corridors covered in twisting vines. They did not pass without seeing other fae. Tiny winged sprites, short muppet-looking goblins and brownies went about their business. None of them looked at their odd group. Tom was certain Niamh had cast some sort of invisibility spell on him until one bold sprite buzzed about his ear.
“Beware, bonnie lad. She’ll bring you to her bed, place a crown upon your fiery head, take your seed and soul, and then feed her wee babes your bones once you’re dead.”
The sing-song voice was so faint he barely heard the sprite’s warning. The sprite darted away before he could ask if she meant the queen or Niamh. The latter glanced over a shoulder at him, her beauty cold yet alluring like the sea itself. Her lash marks were crusted over but still looked deep and painful. It hurt his heart to look at them--the cruelty of Queen Mab apparent in every wound, even if he hadn’t experienced it already himself.
“You have a tender heart and a bonnie face. It is your allure, and the queen will be helpless to it as any fae,” Niamh said in a matter of fact tone. “I’ll be whole, and she’ll never hurt me or anyone else again once you give me the necklace.”
The group continued on. The passing look of jealous on Brón’s face, didn’t escape Tom’s notice.
After seemingly endless narrow halls, Niamh paused at a wooden door. “This is the servant’s entrance to the throne room. I want you to walk directly to the dais and stretch yourself out at the foot of the throne. Say nothing. When Queen Mab approaches, do this.” The water horse hooked her finger.
Tom opened his mouth to object. He was no good at seduction. If he’d looked like Ariel or Fergus, he would have been able to pull it off.
Niamh pressed a finger to his lips.
Tongue poised for speech, Tom accidentally got a taste of her skin: salt and sea and power. He found himself wanting more. Fergus’s warning resounded in his head. Fae wanted a commitment a man of Tom’s generation couldn’t make. How many men had lost their lives chasing beautiful Niamh because they hungered for what she could give them and not what they could give her?
He’d always looked at Kelsey as a bridge to Ariel. He’d looked at Aoife as a bridge to Fergus. No wonder Kelsey had talked over him and Ariel, Tom wouldn’t have paid her any mind if she hadn’t demanded their time and attention. She’d made winning Ariel’s affection easier by doing the hard work of matching them up. Tom had been terrible to both women, taking when they’d given so much because a woman long ago had abandoned him. He hadn't been good to A
riel or Fergus either. Tom didn’t listen. He suddenly realized all his relationships had been about him and how he felt, what he needed.
Professor Xavier had been right, he was pushing Ariel to go public with their relationship, not because he believed in same sex relationships being as valid as hetero relationships, but because he wanted Ariel to tell the world Tom deserved him. It was about him and his ego, about being wanted because his biological parents hadn’t wanted him.
“Remember. No matter what she offers, it is a trick.” Niamh caressed Tom’s cheek. “You can stick around once I have power. I wouldn’t be ashamed of you, if you were mine. I’d make you my king.”
Brón’s eye slits slanted at angry angles and the slash for his mouth turned down at the corners, but the dryad didn’t utter a word of protest. Had she made him the same promises?
Tom smiled ruefully. “A few years ago, I would have taken you up on the offer, Niamh, but I want to go home when this is done.”
“I’m going with him,” Brón announced.
Niamh snatched her hand away, eyes flashing red. “Very well. Go in. If the party Mab sent out to collect humans was successful, the queen and her court will appear here by twilight. Beware. She’ll be in full possession of her power.”
11
Tom stepped into a forest, or so it seemed at first. Dryads of the same height as Brón filled a moss-covered floor. Fae of all kinds roamed the room. Instead of marble pillars, rows of trees fixed by gnarly roots lined the room. These towered as tall as perhaps ten-story buildings, their branches a natural arbor and their leaves a canopy above. Vines with glowing flowers grew along the distant walls. Similar vines wound up the length of the giant trees, illuminating the room in pale blue light, which gave everything an ethereal sheen.
The door shut behind him with a distinct click. Having second thoughts about this plan, he spun around and tried to open it to no avail. Niamh had somehow sealed it from the other side.
Panic surged like a tsunami wave, threatening to crash and break him. He was going to die here, devoured by a hideous monster. Tom closed his eyes and breathed, picturing Ariel’s face. He would see Ariel again, and he would be a better partner. The panic ebbed.
Tam Lin: A Modern, Queer Retelling (Faerie Tales) Page 5
