13 Curses

by Michelle Harrison

  “I didn’t know,” Red said. “It was just… there. I never questioned it. I don’t even know if it had a name. I never gave it a name of my own.” She gazed at Gredin. “If Florence was able to call upon Raven, then that must mean that Raven is…”

  “Florence’s guardian,” Stitch interrupted.

  “So, I’m guessing you’re Tanya’s guardian, then?” Red asked Gredin.

  “Yes.” Gredin was watching her intently. “If it’s any consolation, she didn’t know about guardians until recently either.”

  “So what does a guardian actually do?” Red asked.

  “We protect our elected human’s best interests,” said Raven. “Those of relevance to the fairy world, that is. If we think a human will benefit from knowing more—or less—about the fairy world, then we endeavor to make it so.”

  “How would we benefit from knowing less, though?” Red persisted. “Surely it’s better to know more?”

  “Not if it leads to trouble,” Raven said, her birdlike eyes fixed on Red in a penetrating stare. “We tried to shield Tanya from too much knowledge, yet she still managed to find certain things out.” The fairy woman’s tone was suddenly icy, and Red knew that her relation of fairy information to Tanya had not gone unnoticed, or forgotten.

  “And look where it led her,” Gredin said softly. “Into a situation she thought she could handle, when really she had no idea of what she was getting herself into.”

  “But Red’s fairy, this rodentlike thing,” Stitch interrupted hastily. “What happened to it?”

  “It died,” said Red, shooting him a grateful look. “Protecting James from harm in the accident.”

  “Protecting your best interests,” Gredin reiterated, then turned away dismissively.

  Stitch recounted the events that had brought him and Red together. Much of it had already been told to Gredin on their trip into the woods, and so it appeared to be more for Raven’s benefit.

  Red found herself distracted by the Mizhog. It had dribbled pieces of chewed worm on her trouser leg and was now licking at it frenziedly. Red dragged her soggy leg away, but the greedy little Mizhog trotted after it determinedly. She gritted her teeth and moved again, but the Mizhog looked up at her with such a mournful expression that she found herself moving her leg back and allowing it to continue its disgusting feast.

  “We can get you out easily,” Gredin was saying to Stitch. “We know of an entrance we could use with little chance of complication.” He cast a glance at Red. “With you, it’s not so simple. We could get you out, but you’d only get brought back again. When you traded places with Tanya, you effectively gave yourself to the fairy realm. To get out you must trade places with someone else with the second sight or arrange some other kind of bargain.”

  “I’ll worry about that after I’ve found my brother,” said Red.

  Gredin’s eyes gave away nothing, but when he spoke next, there was a measure of respect in his voice.

  “Very well. Raven will take Stitch back to the manor. I will accompany you to the court. But be warned that I can have no sway over what happens there—I hold no power in the court. Once you’re there, you’re on your own.”

  “No,” said Stitch. “I don’t think you understand. I’ve pledged to help Red now. I’m not going back without her.”

  Red shook her head. “You’ve already helped me. You should go back.”

  “I’m staying,” he repeated. “Whatever happens.”

  Raven and Gredin exchanged a look.

  “Then Gredin will guide you both,” said Raven. “I’ll return to the manor with the news that we’ve found you.”

  Stitch nodded, a worry line appearing in his forehead. “Tell them that Nell is still missing too.”

  Stitch and Gredin went over the map, discussing the quickest route to their destination. Gredin, already familiar with the realm, had little use for the map except to demonstrate to Stitch the best path for them.

  Too soon, Stitch was looking up at the sky as he made ready the horses.

  “We should get going. There’s still a long way ahead of us.”

  They said their good-byes to Raven before her bird form took over once more. Then she was in the air, soaring above the forest, and gone.

  They mounted their horses, Gredin leaping lithely onto the third. His golden eyes narrowed as he surveyed the landscape, and then they moved off onto the open land, the fey man slightly in the lead and Stitch and Red on either side of him.

  Miles of nothingness stretched before them, only green hills and a ribbon of road threading through it. They headed for the road, heads down against a rising wind. There was little conversation; Gredin was not a companionable guide. Soon the sun was gone, enveloped by murky rain clouds. Red threw the fox-skin coat around her shoulders but did not fasten it, instead holding it closed with her hand. When the rain started, the coarse fur kept her dry and warm, and beneath the pointed ears she dipped her head to keep her face out of the wind.

  Through the wind hissing past her ears, she heard Gredin shouting for them to move faster.

  Her thighs burned with the effort of staying on the horse. Dirt and grit flew up from the horses’ hooves and, though she stayed quite dry, soon she began to tire. Onward they rode in what felt like the longest journey of Red’s life.

  The first sign of shelter was another traveler on the road, coming in the opposite direction. It was a carriage, drawn by two horses that were foaming at the mouth.

  “Whoa!” Gredin cried, slowing his horse and moving to one side to allow the carriage by. As it passed, Red glimpsed the coachman. At first sight he looked almost human, yet as her gaze traveled down she saw that one leg ended in a wet-looking frog’s foot that was splashing happily in the water sliding across the coach’s wooden surface.

  “Over there,” called Stitch, pointing farther along the road after the way was clear once more. Red looked through the sheets of rain. Beyond, there was the faint outline of a town.

  They drew nearer. With darkness descending, it was plain that they would be resting here for the night.

  “Stay behind me,” Gredin warned. “Do not accept anything to eat or drink without my say-so, and let me do the talking.”

  Shabby cottages of wood and stone fringed the town. In one or two places a wooden door in a rocky face or a hole in the ground belied the dwelling of some fey creature. The gravel road gave way to cobblestone, and farther in, the buildings knotted together to form streets and alleys. Much to Red’s surprise there were even little shops nestled in-between.

  Gredin halted outside an inn.

  “Wait here,” he told them, sliding neatly off his horse and vanishing through a wooden door that was at least a head smaller than he was.

  While she and Stitch waited for him to return, Red peered up at the building. Hanging from the wall was a faded sign displaying the name of the inn: THE PAUPER’S PLATTER.

  When Gredin reappeared, he was accompanied by a goblin less than half his height with an enormous nose. Taking his horse’s reins from Stitch, Gredin beckoned as the goblin innkeeper hurried around the side of the building.

  “Leave your horses here,” the innkeeper grunted, pushing open a high, wide door that led into a stable. “They’ll be looked after.” He summoned a stable-hand with green-tinged skin as they dismounted and then made their way back out to the inn door.

  “The rooms are small, but they’re warm and dry,” their goblin host continued, ushering them through. Once inside, he left them.

  The inn was dimly lit and the air was thick with an herby smoke. Red kept her head down but took in her surroundings from out of the corner of her eye, careful not to meet anyone’s gaze. At the center was an ancient tree, its trunk so stout that Red suspected that even if she and Stitch and Gredin were to join hands they wouldn’t be able to meet around it. Its branches curved and dipped overhead, and from some of the branches lanterns glowed.

  On the floor there were places where the roots had pushed up through
the ground; the stonework floor had been laid to accommodate them, and in one or two curves of the exposed roots, fairies sat while they supped at their ale.

  “Take a seat,” Gredin said, gesturing to a darkened nook. “I’ll collect our keys, and something to eat and drink.”

  Red and Stitch slipped into the space to sit on either side of a small wooden table. It was enclosed by a partition of low-hanging branches. They sat in silence until Gredin returned. Red could tell that they had attracted a few curious glances already—but whether it was because she and Stitch were human, or merely strangers, it was impossible to say. When Gredin came back, he placed three keys on the table and sat down.

  Without warning, one of the tree’s branches suddenly swooped toward them. Impulsively, Red ducked, but Gredin gave a low chuckle.

  “It’s all right.”

  She sat up again, feeling foolish. She realized now that the branch hadn’t come to attack, but to set a platter on the table before retreating. Looking around the inn, she waited for a few moments, and then another branch swooped out carrying another platter to a different table.

  The platter held bread and some hard-looking cheese, meat, some fruit, a bowl of eggs still in their shells, a full pitcher containing a dark liquid, and three stoneware mugs. Gredin poured himself a little of the liquid, drinking cautiously and warning Red and Stitch with his eyes to wait until he gave the go-ahead. After a sip, he nodded and filled their mugs, then took a slow bite of the bread. He did not nod this time, but simply divided the portion into three and pushed it toward them.

  Red sipped her drink dubiously. It tasted sweet and vaguely familiar, yet there was a slightly bitter aftertaste.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Beesmead,” Gredin answered. “It’s made from honey and a small amount of hops.”

  “It’s nice,” she said, taking a gulp that almost emptied her mug. She held it in her mouth to savor the taste. Gredin noticed.

  “Eat and drink as much as you like,” he said. “You’ll never go hungry here.” He took her mug and placed it back on the platter. There was a light gurgle and the mug refilled.

  “How did you do that?”

  Gredin reached into his cloak and removed a small drawstring pouch. He cupped it in his hands and drew the drawstrings through his fingers repeatedly.

  “Ever heard of the Thirteen Treasures?” he asked, looking at first Red, then Stitch.

  Red nodded and glanced at Stitch. He was brushing crumbs from his increasingly bristly chin.

  “I know a little of them,” he said. “An old legend, isn’t it? To do with the fairy courts? In fact, that reminds me….” He wiped grease from his fingers and pulled the old charm bracelet out of his pocket. “I’m pretty sure this is based on them. It belonged to the first lady of Elvesden Manor. She was a changeling.” He passed the piece of jewelry to Gredin.

  “I remember this,” said Gredin, his dark brow furrowing as his long, thin fingers moved over the charms like spiders’ legs. “It was the cause of the drain-dweller’s unfortunate demise.”

  “Let me see.” Red held out her hand for the bracelet, and examined each of the charms in turn. She knew them by heart, having committed them to memory with the rest of the information she’d hoarded in her mind. “The Sword, the Book, the Goblet, the Cauldron… they’re all here,” she muttered. “I never paid attention to it when I saw it before.” She set it on the table, then looked at Gredin expectantly.

  “So, what do the Thirteen Treasures have to do with this place?”

  Gredin twisted the cord of the drawstring bag around his fingers once more.

  “One of the treasures—the Platter—was enchanted so that it would never let its owner go hungry. There’s a story that once, before the division of the great court, a human man—a farmer—and his family, showed hospitality to a fairy in disguise, even though the family was poor and had little for themselves. As repayment the fairy took the man before the court and requested that he be rewarded. The court bestowed the power of the Platter upon the farmer and his family for all their days—and for their descendants. Their farm prospered from that day forth. As well as every meal that was prepared replenishing itself until each member had eaten their fill, their crops grew well, and their livestock was healthy and plentiful.

  “Many years later, when the farmer was old and had passed the care of the farm over to his son, the fairy who had visited all those years ago paid the farm another visit. This time his daughter accompanied him, and at first sight she fell in love with the farmer’s son. The farmer agreed that his son and the fairy girl could marry, and so the farmer’s son returned to the fairy realm with his new wife and set up a little inn to trade from and to live in. Bestowed with his father’s good fortune, the inn flourished with its portions of food and ale that would never fail to satisfy any appetite, and”—Gredin spread his hands wide and glanced around them—“it continues to do so today.”

  “This is the inn?” Red asked, with another happy sip of the beesmead.

  Gredin shrugged. “So it’s said.”

  She leaned back. The story was comforting, almost like one of the fairy tales from her book. She yawned, full and suddenly drowsy.

  “We should rest,” said Stitch. “We’ve still got a long way ahead of us, and we should start out early again.”

  Gredin nodded, finally opening the drawstring bag in his hand and shaking out several silver coins. Red reached for one of them.

  “I’ve never seen fey money before,” she said curiously. On one side, a tree in full blossom was etched into the coin’s surface. She flipped it over to see what was on the other side. “It’s a tree again,” she said aloud. “Only this time it’s like a skeleton, without any leaves.” She replaced it and reached for another. This one was larger, and showed six familiar symbols on one side.

  “What do you see?” asked Gredin.

  “A platter, a heart, a candelabrum, a dagger, a staff, and a key.”

  “And on the other side?”

  Red turned it over.

  “A book,” she said slowly. “A ring. A sword, a cup… a goblet, a mask… and a cauldron.”

  “The Thirteen Treasures,” said Stitch.

  Gredin nodded. “Every fairy coin represents the two faces of the court: the Seelie and the Unseelie.” He pointed to the coin with the tree. “The side that’s in bloom represents spring and summer—the Seelie Court. The other side, where the tree is barren, is autumn and winter—the Unseelie.” He arranged the coins carefully on the table.

  “You’re leaving them all Seelie side up,” Red noticed.

  “It’s the custom,” said Gredin. “Coins used in payment must be offered with the side up that represents the court that is currently ruling. To do otherwise is believed to be bad luck. If witnessed by a member of either court, it could be seen as treachery or disrespect, resulting in a penalty. So we always give them the right way.” His face clouded then. “And in two days, it changes once again.”

  Red suddenly went cold.

  “What do you mean, ‘two days’?” she asked.

  “The changeover of the court,” Gredin replied. “From the Seelie to the Unseelie. We call it Samhain, but I believe you humans know it as Halloween.”

  “What?” Red jumped up, knocking her stool over and upsetting her beesmead. Across from them, a fey woman with a scarred face looked over.

  “SIT,” Gredin hissed, his golden eyes ablaze.

  Red obeyed, but fear rose within her.

  “I don’t understand,” she said hoarsely. “How can it be in two days? I knew some time had passed, but I had no idea how much! How can it be almost Halloween now?”

  Stitch placed his hand on her arm.

  “Red,” he said gently. “Nearly three months have passed since the night you came into the fairy realm. I don’t know how long the Hedgewitch kept you in that cellar…. It may have only felt like a day, but you’ve been here a lot longer than that.”

  “It was
n’t the Hedgewitch,” Red said slowly. “When I first got in I was being chased. I needed a place to hide, so I climbed into the hollow of a tree with rowan berries growing around it…. They were green when I went in. And when I awoke the next morning, they were red… ripe.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yes—my hair had grown… and before I got in I cut my hands on spidertwine. But the next day the cuts had healed.”

  “A time slip, then,” Gredin muttered. “It’s not uncommon when a human enters the fairy realm. The clash of one thing from one world entering the other can often result in a slip. Sometimes it can be years… decades, even.”

  Red stared at her scarred hands. “You make it sound like I should be grateful.”

  “You should,” said Gredin, unflinching.

  “Why didn’t it happen to Stitch?” she asked, turning to him. “How could you come into the realm and meet up with me? Wouldn’t there have been another time slip?”

  “No,” said Stitch. “Because I didn’t come in alone, or of my own accord. I was brought in by fairies—in which case there would be no time slip.”

  Red began to tremble. “We need to get to the court before they change over! It has to be the Seelie Court that gives me an audience—it can’t be the Unseelie! It can’t! We have to leave, right now! We have to keep going!”

  “We are making good time,” Gredin said stiffly. “The Seelie Court will see you and hear the case for your brother—I am confident of that. Tonight we rest, and tomorrow we ride hard. But before that, I want to hear about the night your brother vanished.”

  Without hesitation, Red began.

  Sleeping was proving difficult for Rowan, especially since she now feared for James’s safety whenever he was out of her sight. Since the trip to the library, she’d hunted out every red item of clothing in the home that might be suitable for James to wear. She stole some red flannelette trousers and a pair of red socks from other children’s wardrobes and the laundry.

  She dressed him in them only when she knew he was going to be out of her sight, but the thought that he would only remain safe for as long as he stayed silent worried her a great deal. He was prone to waking and calling out for her. As a result, her own sleep was fitful; she awoke three or four times every night to check on him.