13 Curses

by Michelle Harrison

  “Probably because she knows it won’t do much good,” said another voice, a little way away.

  Rowan forced her head to the side, searching the moonlit gardens. There, beneath the apple tree was a second figure. A lookout. The voice was male also, but his face remained hidden in the shadows.

  “Take the child,” the first fairy instructed his accomplice.

  “What? Wait, now… Snatcher, all you said was that I would have to keep watch. That’s it. I don’t want any other part of this.”

  “I said, take the child,” Snatcher hissed. “And keep it quiet.”

  “Please, don’t take him!” Rowan begged. A jerk to her arm shut her up.

  Reluctantly, the second figure slid out from under the tree. His face was obscured by a hood.

  “Please,” she tried again. “Don’t take my brother. Don’t hurt him!”

  “Hurt him?” Snatcher chuckled softly. “What gives you that impression, you foolish girl?”

  “What are you going to do with him?” she asked fearfully. “What do you want with all these children?” James was out of sight now, tucked away in the dusky folds beneath the tree with the accomplice.

  “What we want is no business of yours,” Snatcher said softly, dangerously. “And the fact that you can see us does not make it so. Be assured, the child will be well cared for. So I suggest you go back to your nice warm bed and forget you ever had a brother.”

  “Never!”

  The low chuckle came again. “You are a fiery one, aren’t you?” He lifted a handful of her hair. “Fiery, just like your red hair.”

  Tears ran down Rowan’s face. Her one good arm was still in his grasp. Her other arm hung uselessly at her side in its plaster. Yet, even as she thought it, she wondered whether it really was so useless….

  “If you take him, I’ll find you,” she said through her teeth. “I won’t rest until I get him back!”

  Snatcher gave an amused whistle.

  “You hear that?” he called into the shadows. “She’s just made me a promise.” He leaned closer, his breath rushing past her ear. “The thing is, I don’t like promises that can’t be kept. They upset me.” He released his grip on her arm, and she collapsed forward in relief.

  “Now, go,” he threatened. “Before you come to real harm.”

  Rowan stayed where she was, allowing herself a couple of little sobs. Just enough time to make it seem convincing that she was beaten. Then in one fluid motion she was on her feet, twisting her body around with her plastered arm cutting through the air. It slammed into Snatcher’s jaw. A split second later he spat teeth and blood. Rowan ran for the trees.

  She had only taken a few paces when from behind her she heard a growl and a swoop. Snatcher had sprung into the air. Once more she was taken down, and this time, as he kicked her over to face him, she knew she really was in trouble. His eyes glowed red as he leaned over her.

  “That was a mistake.” He grabbed her by her hair and forced her to her knees. “I was willing to go easy on you,” he said through a crooked jaw. “I like your spirit. But now I’m tired of being patient. And when people cross me, I like to leave them a little souvenir.”

  “What do you mean, a souvenir?” Rowan gasped.

  “Come on, Snatcher,” his companion called anxiously. “She’s just a child.”

  “Something to remember me by,” Snatcher said, his words wet and bloody. His companion remained quiet. “Just in case you ever think of trying to cross me again.” He laughed. “What do you say?” he called to his hidden companion. “Shall I give her some wings?”

  “What do you mean? What are you doing?” Rowan struggled, swinging her plaster behind her once more, trying to catch his knees—but this time he was too quick for her, dancing out of her way. She felt her hair being yanked from her nape and twisted into Snatcher’s meaty fist. As it grew tighter, pulling at the tender skin on her neck, she suddenly felt something cold and hard being pressed into her skin. An image of Snatcher’s ring with its wing insignia flashed into her mind. Then a white-hot, excruciating pain seared into the center of her back at the top of her shoulders. It felt like her back had been set on fire.

  She screamed—then choked on grass as Snatcher pressed her face into the earth, cutting off her cries. Then the pressure relented and a new sound filled her ears—a cry of pain deeper and louder than her own. Lifting herself to her elbows, she spat dirt out of her mouth and rolled onto her back. It was then that she saw golden light flickering, illuminating the darkness—and the rest of what was happening.

  A terrible smell wafted over her, along with howls of pain and fury. Snatcher’s wings had burst into flame, and now he was batting at them with his hands and shrieking incantations to try to put them out. But nothing seemed to work. In the time it took for his companion to reach him, the flames, and his wings, were gone.

  “My wings!” Snatcher screamed, as he was led away. “My beautiful wings! What has she done to them? How did she do that? The little witch!”

  Weakly, Rowan tried to stand, but the pain on her back was too much to withstand. She lay there, drifting in and out of consciousness as Snatcher and his companion vanished into the night… taking her little brother with them.

  “That was the last time I ever saw my brother,” said Red, staring into her beesmead. She lifted her hand to the top of her back, tracing the burn.

  It was late now, and quiet in the Pauper’s Platter; most of the customers had either left or retired to their rooms. Only a few stragglers remained, the occasional drunken snore reaching them from where someone had fallen asleep on a table, or under it.

  “My shouts finally woke some of the staff and the children who were left. I was hysterical at first, shouting about fairies, but of course, no one listened. Eventually I calmed down. I had to think quickly, but I was in a lot of pain. I hid the burn and dealt with it alone. I couldn’t think of a way to explain it. When the police arrived I told them that I’d seen someone take James, and ran after them. It was the truth, just not the complete truth. The area was searched, but of course they never found anything.

  “The next day they moved me to London. By then, I’d thought it all through. I knew that if I went to live with my aunt Rose there would be no chance of finding James ever again. So I waited until my plaster was taken off two weeks later, packed a few essentials, and ran away. It’s easy to disappear in London. So many people, and no one even looks at you.” She stopped to stifle a yawn, and Stitch placed a hand on her arm.

  “I think that’s enough for tonight,” he said. “We need to get some rest if we’re to leave early.”

  Gredin nodded, looking thoughtful.

  “You’re sure that neither of your parents… had the second sight?” he asked.

  Red shook her head in surprise. “I’m sure,” she said. “Why do you ask?”

  “No reason,” said Gredin, but his eyes did not meet hers.

  They rose from the table and found their rooms. As the goblin had described, they were small, but as Red sank down into a feather-stuffed mattress and wrapped a fur around herself, it was the biggest luxury she’d had in a long time.

  Raven found them the next morning as they were saddling up and preparing to leave.

  “The housekeeper is safe. The gypsy woman found her in the woods near Tinker’s End.”

  “Tinker’s End?” Red interrupted. “Do you mean Tickey End?”

  Gredin shook his head.

  “Tinker’s End is the name of the area in the fairy realm,” he said. “Sometimes, in your world, the names have merged to become something similar. Occasionally, you will even find that some place names are exactly the same. It’s a result of the two worlds mixing over many years—things overlap.”

  “That makes sense,” said Red.

  They mounted the horses and set off. This time, Stitch took the colt and Gredin and Raven rode the stallion. A chilly breeze curled around them as they traveled, a stark reminder that summer was over. The dark months wer
e beginning.

  As Gredin had promised, they rode hard, stopping only once on that second day. Red’s body ached from riding. Each jolt from the horse rattled her bones and her teeth, but she did not complain. Every minute that passed was a minute closer to the Unseelie rule. That night, they bedded down under the stars.

  On the third day, the sun rose in a red sky.

  “Samhain,” said Gredin.

  The word sent fear slithering down Red’s back like an eel.

  “We’re a little farther away than I’d hoped,” Gredin continued. “But we can still make it in time.”

  They journeyed relentlessly, over hills and past villages large and small. All the while the sun rose above them and then gradually fell in the sky.

  “Are we nearly there?” Red asked time and again. “How much farther?”

  At first Gredin would grunt a response, often lost in the wind. Then he appeared not to have heard, and so she stopped asking. By the time yellow lights dotted the horizon she had all but given up hope that they would make it in time, but then Gredin yelled for them to keep up, and she spurred her horse on with all the strength she had left.

  Faint music reached their ears as they neared the lights and, as they approached, Red saw a town similar to the one they had stayed in on the first night.

  “This is it,” Gredin called, slowing his horse. “Our destination: Avalon.” He dismounted and beckoned them to follow as they passed into the town. The music was louder now, raucous and frenzied. They followed it along the narrow stone streets, which grew busier the closer the music got. Red peered out from beneath the fox-skin coat. She was careful not to fasten it, for she did not want to transform but simply conceal herself a little from those around her.

  Soon the paths were clamoring with fairies, old and young, alone and in groups, ugly and beautiful. Red felt dazed as they milled past, yet she held a thought in her mind as she looked into each face. At least one of these fey people knew where her brother was—and there was every possibility that James himself might be among them. She found herself staring into the face of each child as she passed, trying to imagine what he would look like now.

  The center of the town was the rowdiest. A manic dance was taking place.

  “That’s them!” Stitch hissed suddenly, pointing to the middle of the crowd.

  Red looked and saw three musicians: a faun, a goblin, and a crooked, old winged man leaping about to their own music.

  “They’re the ones who caught me in the fairy ring!”

  Beyond the fey musicians was a maypole, with dozens of fey folk dancing in time to the beat while knotting the colored fronds of red-gold leaves that spiraled out from the pole. Some of the faces were alight with joy. Others betrayed a sense of doom and impending obligation. It was these fey people who were afraid.

  “The Samhain dance,” said Raven in a low voice. “It is danced every year in this place, and fairies travel from all over the realm to partake. In spring, there is another dance—the Beltane dance, which celebrates the Seelie rule.”

  “Keep walking,” Gredin murmured. They passed the bulk of the crowd and moved on through the streets, where the throng of fairies lessened. Now that they were less conspicuous, Red allowed herself to take in her surroundings a little more. All around them was a mixture of homes, shops, and inns. Half of them bustled with life, decorated in autumnal colors. The other half were dark, their shutters closed. In one little shop, curiously named The Cat and the Cauldron, a hand-painted sign was propped in the window.

  CLOSED FOR SAMHAIN, it read. BACK IN SPRING.

  Red raised her eyebrows. “So they really do just up and leave.”

  “Yes, unfortunately,” Raven grumbled. “I was hoping we’d catch them in time, but obviously we’ve just missed them. They do some of the best remedies around.”

  “What kind of remedies?” asked Red, peering into the darkened window.

  “Oh, the usual,” Gredin replied. “Ear tip salve, that kind of thing. And their wing repair service is second to none.”

  “Ear tip salve?” Red wondered aloud.

  “For pointed ears,” Gredin explained, gesturing to his own. “If you’ve been using a glamour to entice them into a rounded, more human shape they can become a little tender after a while.” He turned to Raven expectantly. “Was it the wing-rot treatment you were after?”

  Raven nodded. “Not for me, you understand,” she told Red and Stitch hastily. “For the Mizhog. It suffers the most horrendous breakouts. Drives us mad with the scratching—” She broke off as an indignant noise sounded from the folds of her dress where the Mizhog was nestling.

  Stitch’s eyebrows shot up. Evidently wing-rot was not a desirable subject for discussion.

  “Let’s leave the horses here,” said Gredin, as they came to the end of the street. They were on the edge of the town now, with fields and pathways ahead of them. As Red looked into the distance she saw flickering lights, seemingly in midair.

  “What are those?”

  “Torchlight,” Gredin answered. “From the Tor.”

  “Glastonbury Tor,” Stitch added. “The home of the court.”

  “We have to climb that?” she asked. “But look how high up they are!”

  “It’s not as bad as it appears,” said Raven.

  They set off, following a barely visible footpath that took them away from the town. Gredin led the way, pointing out a narrow stony path that had been carved into the surface of the grassy mound.

  “We must hurry,” he said grimly, and after that, nobody else spoke, instead saving their breath for the ascent.

  Red’s thighs ached with the exertion of the climb. After three days of traveling and little sleep, she was weaker and wearier than she’d ever been in her life. But now she was close—closer than she had been to James in nearly two years.

  It took around twenty minutes to reach the top. Stitch was the last to arrive. Red handed him her flask as he made it to the summit, for his lips were dry and cracked. The wind was high at the top, whistling around them and carrying strange, echoing sounds of laughter and singing. The land surrounding the vast hill was lost to darkness; just a few tiny, lit windows from the faraway town were visible.

  “Are you ready?”

  Gredin’s voice caught her off guard. She nodded, shivering.

  Gredin and Raven walked to the center of the hill. Red and Stitch joined them.

  “So where is it?” she whispered, her eyes searching. She had been expecting a grand palace once they had reached the hilltop. But all that was there was a circle of torches on the empty hill.

  Gredin nodded toward his feet.

  “It’s below us.”

  “Then how do we get in?” Stitch asked, clearly baffled.

  “Like this,” said Raven. She spread her arms, motioning for them to stand in a circle and join hands. Red’s heart drummed as she stepped in and completed the circle. The moment her hands touched Stitch’s and Raven’s, the ground rippled beneath their feet. Red jumped back in surprise, beginning to unclasp her hands—but Gredin shook his head fiercely.

  “Don’t break the circle!”

  Red understood then, and held on tight with her eyes fixed on the ground.

  The grass rippled again, and then a tuft of it curled back into a thick roll that landed at Stitch’s feet.

  A chink of light burst from the ground along with a chorus of voices and music. The circle of light widened as the grass unfurled, peeling back like the skin of an orange until there was a hole in the ground before them.

  What it revealed was astounding: an ornate staircase of twisted roots that curved down and then split into two separate sets of steps, spiraling around each other. Beyond it, snatches of a vast hall, full of light and movement. It was magnificent, beautiful, terrifying.

  It was the fairy court.

  Masked figures in elaborate costumes lifted their heads to view the newcomers on the stairs. They descended in pairs on the staircase to the right, Raven and St
itch at the front and Gredin and Red following on.

  Red did not know where to look. Her eyes were being drawn everywhere: to the grandness and splendor of the hall they were coming into, the intricacy of the staircase, and the way the inhabitants of the hall were divided into two, almost cleanly split down the middle. Their eyes were disturbing her, staring and unreadable behind the masks. Her own exposed face left her feeling like prey.

  A feast was in progress. Two long tables were set on either side, both laid with exquisite food and drink: roasted birds and hog; ripe, glistening fruit; golden-brown nuts; and goblets of fiery, blood-red wine. The sights and scents of it all sent saliva rushing into Red’s mouth.

  Each table mirrored the other, but the seated guests paid attention only to their own. Those at the table on the left of the hall were loud and boisterous, eating and drinking with gusto. In contrast, the table on the right was subdued. Red quickly deduced that the former must be the Unseelie fey, preparing for their new term of power, while the latter were the Seelie, regretful to relinquish theirs.

  Beyond the tables a masked dance was taking place on a dimly lit floor. From the hillside above, twisted roots tumbled down from the domed ceiling, the longer ones culminating in gnarled wooden pillars, and the shorter ones home to garlands of autumn leaves that cascaded down to decorate the entire hall.

  Overseeing the dance and the feast on a raised altar, two figures sat side by side on carved thrones, neither speaking to nor looking at each other. The figure on the left was male, dressed in dark brown fur. His face was hidden behind his mask: the head of a stag with enormous antlers. On the right sat a woman. Her dress and mask were of brilliant blues: the iridescent, shimmering feathers of a peacock splaying out defiantly.

  As they twisted farther down the staircase, Red saw two guards standing at the bottom of each set of steps, waiting to receive them. She saw Stitch’s cheek twitching, and realized he was clenching and unclenching his jaw nervously. She wondered if he regretted accompanying her, but knew—as he too must have known—that now that he was here, it was too late for him to turn back.