Instead of going to her rock to sit and look out to sea, she went to where she imagined the beginning of the faerie road might be and closed her eyes.
It was there, immediately, as if it had been waiting for her. The long grass where she knew there should only be sand; the twinkling lights that floated around her like stars in a tide of light mist. She had walked this place so many times and never known.
Or perhaps she had known: Black Sands was a magical place. It had always been that way; Moddie had brought her here as a child to make simple shell shapes on the dark sand. She had squatted down on her bare heels next to her daughter. Make a wish, Faye. When the tide takes your spell, it goes to the faeries.
Moddie made shapes Faye recognised: circles, spirals, stars. She often wrote things within the shapes with her finger; symbols and letters. And, occasionally, she would dispatch Faye to collect as many shells as she could from around the beach to make one large heart shape which she would always trace the same name into: Lyr. What is Lyr, mummy? Little Faye would watch Moddie draw the looping script into the sand. Nobody, darling. Just a memory, she would reply.
Not many others came here. But she and Annie had spent hours here as teens, asking all manner of boons from the sea and the wind and the air: To pass their exams. To get people to like them. To get the new boots they’d had their eye on in the one village shoe shop.
She closed her eyes and followed the sparkling path. She was no longer cold, and she took off her gloves and coat, letting them fall to the ground.
The fae were around her again, in varying size and colour and type. The butterfly fae fluttered past, moonlight glimmering on their wings. When she looked up, the moon was still there and the sea rippled calmly to her left. There was a distant sound of hoofbeats on grass, and a pleasurable thrumming rhythm that vibrated up from the faerie earth into her body.
This time, she followed the path to the top of the hill where the golden light shone as it had before. And when she reached the top, she took a breath of wonder.
Before her, far out at sea, was a huge golden castle, ringed by a vast green maze. In reality, if you stood on Black Sands Beach and looked out, it was onto the Firth of Forth that ran into the North Sea; there was a small island off the coast that monks had once lived on; before that, druids.
But now there was no island: instead, tall towers plunged upward through the dark Fife sea, looking as if they were formed of golden seawater. The maze that led to it was impossible. There was no way that such a strangely manicured puzzle could just be there, dotted with flower gardens, fountains and strange golden statues. And yet it was there, made of a kind of hedge which ran at head height. Faye could see many small faeries scurrying about in it, the hedge towering above them. It seemed that the maze was the only way to the castle, and it seemed to reach on forever.
The air was scented. Faye could pick out rose, jasmine and lavender, but she knew there were more fragrances that made up the smell of this place; lingering, heavy, like an incense or when she walked past the perfume counters in the fancy department stores in Edinburgh. She remembered the smell of roses when she had made love with Rav on the beach. It was the same smell; the same perfumed air.
Well, I might as well follow, she thought, and approached the entrance to the maze. This is what everyone else seems to be doing. Though ‘everyone’ wasn’t really the correct term; the faeries were so varied. In front of her, floating into the maze opening, was a beautiful fae woman about Faye’s height. She was wearing a green skirt. She was naked from the waist up, and her golden hair floated down her shoulders like a cloak. Yet when her skirt swished to one side, Faye saw she had black goat legs underneath.
‘Through the maze, this and there, the faerie castle is here. Beware!
Beware, humans, ere time is lost! Beware the years that the faerie realm cost!
Through the maze, this and there, the faerie castle is here. Beware!’
Two gnome-type little men with beards – rather like the gnomes Faye had in the garden behind the shop where she grew herbs for her homemade incenses – sang the song as she trod past. One looked up and nodded at her as she grew closer to the opening of the maze.
‘Blessings, miss. Ready to try your luck in the Faerie Maze?’ he chuckled rather unpleasantly. ‘Most humans don’t come back if they go in. But there’s fine food and dancing to be had. Don’t be shy, little miss, in you go!’ and he reached out a little hand and tickled the back of her shin so that she leaped forward.
‘Hey!’ she cried, not sure what to do. She didn’t want to get lost, wherever she was. Moddie had read enough faerie stories to the young Faye for her to know that getting lost in Faerieland was no laughing matter. The realm of the fae was dangerous; faeries were capricious, changeable; they might grant your wishes or help you around the house, or they might try and drown you, steal from you or hurt you in a thousand little ways.
And of course there were the tales told of unlucky villagers who, on moonlit evenings, had come across a faerie ring of toadstools or a faerie mound – the ones that the farmers preserved in the middle of their fields so as not to upset the Fair Folk. They were transported into the land of the fae where they might have been treated well or badly, but when they returned, it was many years later and their family had all died of old age and no-one knew them.
She stepped back, but the other little gnome-man followed her and looked up into her face.
‘No, no! She’s not one of them. She’s sidhe-leth. Let her pass,’ he said, and bowed deeply from the waist. ‘Many apologies, madam. We have not seen your like for many years.’
Faye was confused.
‘But I don’t want to be lost here. It was a mistake. I’m going.’ She turned away and followed her footsteps back to the beach, though she really didn’t want to at all. Everything in her being sang out for the faerie castle; she wanted so much to go, to be in it. It was more than wanting, in fact; it was a need, a sense that it was part of her.
‘You will not be lost, madam. You can pass.’ The gnome bowed again. ‘You will know the way.’
Faye turned again and looked at the castle before her; it seemed to loom even more golden and bright against the strange sky. Though it had the same full moon as above the beach, it was neither day or night but a strange pink-orange in between, like sunset or sunrise.
She wanted to, but she was afraid.
Then, as she looked into the maze, at the end of the first turn, she saw Moddie.
Chapter Fifteen
Without thinking, Faye ran forward.
‘Moddie!’ she cried; she hadn’t called her Mum since she was small. Moddie had preferred her own name; she’d been a young mother, only twenty-one when she’d had Faye. When Faye was in her teens, their relationship had been more like sisters.
Moddie’s hair was loose and curled and reached her waist in long ringlets. She wore a white dress with a full skirt and long, bell-shaped sleeves. Her feet were bare, and she wore a golden circlet on her head. She beckoned to Faye, smiling, then turned a corner.
Faye ran through the maze pathway to the end and turned left as Moddie had. The hedge of the maze wall was fragrant and brushed against her legs as she ran.
‘Moddie! Wait!’ she cried again, but her mother moved fast through the turns and twists, not looking back. Faye followed as best she could, being careful not to crush the small faeries as she passed them; ladybirds the size of cats, leather-apron-wearing, bearded goblins that carried metal tools, more diaphanous, beautiful fae that seemed to float by without touching the earth. They were all heading for the castle, and there was an excitement among them that Faye picked up on. As she grew nearer, her heart beat faster; she felt a pleasant sense of anticipation, though she didn’t know why.
Will I be lost? she wondered, but she felt that Moddie wouldn’t lead her astray. There was that strange sense of familiarity, again; though she didn’t understand how that could be. And the more she breathed in the strange faerie air, the more a k
ind of lassitude entered her veins. It was like having drunk two glasses of wine: the same light-headedness and pleasure at everything.
Faye followed the turns of the maze as best she could, trying to stay focused, fighting the lulling influence of the air and a growing disinclination to hurry at all. Moddie led her through long, dark tunnel-like passages where the hedge seemed to have almost completely grown over at the top, making a leaf-hatched ceiling; on other stretches the hedge was replaced by long walls of sandy brick or red stone; one section was made completely of a thick blue-tinted glass through which Faye could see the black ocean under her feet.
Further on, when the hedge had returned, small winged faeries fluttered around her head, singing, and she found herself laughing, holding her hands out for them to land on. She was fascinated with them all, shivering delightedly as four white faerie horses ran past her, their flanks covered in sweat, their hooves pounding on the flattened dirt. Faye stopped walking and let the rose-scented air overpower her. There were other voices that joined in the singing; she wanted to sing too. She felt her eyes closing, and pleasure washing over her. Moddie had died and left her long ago. It probably wasn’t her mother that was leading her through the maze; most likely, it was another type of faerie that looked like her. That wanted to trick her.
Come to us, Faye, come to us, sidhe-leth, the voices sang to her, and, as her eyes closed, the edges of the maze seemed to melt away, leaving Faye in a slow, soft kind of dance with all the creatures undulating around in a circle, this way and that. Come to us, be with us, Faye Morgan, kindred soul.
Faye felt a pinch on her arm and opened her eyes; the dream, whatever it had been, of the faerie dance disappeared; she was alone again. She rubbed the sore spot on her forearm, frowning; it was like a sudden hangover come way too early after the pleasant tipsiness of a moment ago.
Faye. Wake up. It was Moddie’s voice; even though she hadn’t heard it for eight years, she knew her mother’s voice as well as she knew her own skin.
As she looked up, Moddie’s foot and the hem of her dress flickered around the far corner. Faye’s head cleared; she knew it was Moddie, and that if she should put her trust in anyone or anything, here in the realm of faerie, it should be her mother. The fae realm is treacherous, Grandmother and Moddie had told her so many times. They are beautiful, but you cannot trust them.
Faye ran after her mother around the next turn, but Moddie had disappeared, and Faye didn’t know which of the three possible openings she might have gone down.
Panic replaced the giddy pleasure of the faerie maze. Faye peered into each opening, but each one was empty and shadowed. She stopped and rested her hand on the thick hedge. She was lost again, and this time, it didn’t feel so good.
Moddie, please help me. I don’t want to be lost here, she thought, but there was no answer; no flickering of a dress in the distance, and no further pinches on her arm. She had to choose one of the ways forward, and she had nothing but instinct to go on.
Taking a deep breath, Faye chose the middle path. And as soon as she stepped into it, the open doors of the golden faerie castle towered, vast, above her.
Chapter Sixteen
The walls of the faerie castle seemed to reach to the moon, which sat pregnant and full above Faye in the coral-pink sky. Its golden towers, when she gazed up at them, seemed to lean towards each other to join under the moon, the golden petals to its glowing centre.
The moon was far larger here than Faye had ever seen it in the ordinary world. Dimly she remembered reading once that the moon would have looked much bigger than it did now to people in the Stone Age, because it was closer to the earth then. Was it the same moon here as the one she was so used to? Or was this another, different, faerie moon that pulsed with a different kind of fierce and sweet power?
Intricate Celtic decoration covered the castle doors and, she saw as she walked through them, the walls inside. Spirals and Celtic knotwork scrolled over the gold and stone; similar designs to the ones on the jewellery she sold at the shop. There were words too, but Faye recognised they were in Scots Gaelic, and her grasp of it was shaky at best. Yet as she passed through the doors, she lost the thread of comparison to the real world altogether; it was like passing deeper into a dream, and whatever grasp she still had of her shop, of Abercolme and Annie and all the things she knew disappeared.
Faye found herself in a square, open-air courtyard. Faeries of all kinds milled around market stalls, which sold all manner of beautiful fruits. Faye remembered the old poem about the dangers of eating the faerie food – Morning and evening, Maids heard the goblins cry: Come buy our orchard fruits, Come buy, come buy! But she felt thirsty, and goblets of some rich red liquid were being poured by a bearded centaur from what looked like a crystal jug on the stall closest to her, with its bright red-and-white striped awning.
The centaur held out the drink to Faye with a wink.
‘Drink for my lady, sidhe-leth? Thy beauty surpasses all, but this drink will make thee beautiful for ever,’ it said in a seductive tone that thrilled Faye and made her shiver with pleasure.
She reached out before she knew what she was doing, then pulled her hand back sharply and shook her head.
‘No, thank you,’ she said, politely, and looked around for Moddie. The throng was getting bigger and busier, and she was being pulled into the crowd. She started to feel threatened instead of delighted.
The centaur – at least, Faye thought that was what it was, as she was a little hazy – had called her sidhe-leth, like the gnomes at the edge of the maze. What was that? She knew sidhe was a Gaelic word for faerie, but she didn’t know what leth was. And she wasn’t a faerie, so what did they mean? It must be some other term they gave to humans – perhaps as she had been a witch her whole life that made her different somehow.
The singing, catcalling and shouting was starting to ring in her ears; it was increasingly loud, so Faye pushed through the crowd as best she could, aiming for one of the entranceways leading off the courtyard. She couldn’t see what lay beyond, but a soft gold light shone in each one – one to the north, one to the east and one to the west.
The closest doorway to Faye was on the left-hand wall, which was what she was used to thinking of as west at home, though here she was unsure which way was which. She managed to elbow and excuse me her way through the crowd until she had passed through it and emerged on the other side, where the noise of the courtyard faded away quickly.
The room was lit by candles, and their warmth licked the carved stone walls from which hung ultramarine and emerald-coloured tapestries. She couldn’t see anyone else in the room, so she approached the nearest one and stroked it with the tip of her finger. It was soft, made of something velvety. The pattern wasn’t one she recognised, but as she gazed at it, she thought for a moment she could see horses in the waves; then she decided they were seals on rocks. It was impossible to say exactly what was on it, but the colours and the sense of movement gave her a deep sense of wonder and beauty.
A hand on her elbow made her jump.
‘I see you like the wall-hangings. They were made by our most talented weavers,’ a deep, musical voice said, and Faye turned to face Finn Beatha. ‘Welcome, Faye Morgan, sidhe-leth.’
Chapter Seventeen
‘Oh!’ She couldn’t think of anything else to say and felt stupid straightaway.
Finn let go of her elbow and bowed to her, though his eyes never left hers, and he smiled mischievously as he did it. ‘The faerie realm is pleased to have you here.’
‘You? How did you get here?!’ Faye spluttered, shocked. Part of the surprise was seeing him, of course, but seeing him also made her remember where she had seen him last, and the memory took her back to earth, which, in the strange dream she was in, she had temporarily forgotten. For a brief moment, a clear vision of Mistress of Magic replaced her opulent surroundings: the hearthfire lit with the flame flickering cosily. It was a dark day, rain battering at the windows, and she had been arranging t
he stone mantelpiece which displayed her biggest crystals. A row of large amethyst crystal clusters sat next to a number of extra large yellow-gold citrine and smoky quartz crystals that had been polished into pyramids and pillars. On days like that, the shop was a snug, safe haven: she clutched at the memory as if it could steady her.
‘I am of this place,’ he replied, as if that would explain everything. ‘I hoped you would come.’
‘You’re… faerie folk? But I saw you. At the bar, onstage! That’s not what the fae do. My mother told me stories.’ Moddie. She remembered that she had been following her mother through the crowd. ‘I have to go. I need to find her. She’s here…’
Faye would have recognised him anywhere, but Finn was dressed differently to the last time she had seen him, onstage in the packed Edinburgh bar. There, he had been bare-chested and barefoot, wearing only a blue and green kilt that sat on his hips, showing off his flat stomach and strong, rangy torso. Now, he wore a dark blue jacket with gold piping on the shoulders which looked somehow military; fitted trousers of the same material highlighted his strong thighs and calves. His dark blonde hair had the same golden flecks in it as she had noticed before – exactly the same colour as the wool she had used on her poppet doll in the spell, she remembered blearily, though the thought already felt distant – but this time, he wore a golden crown, studded with pearls and opals.
‘She resides with us now. You will see her again in due course.’ Finn took her hand this time and she felt the light-headedness that had overcome her before return, but this time, at a much greater intensity. Instinctively, Faye fought his power, though it was intensely strong. She tried to do what she had in the Edinburgh bar – to shut down her energy centres and cloak herself in darkness to regain some kind of control, but it was impossible to retain enough focus to do it properly. She kept finding her mind wandering, and the focused power she was used to raising and directing in spells and ritual eluded her, like snow blown into drifts and eddies by a strong wind.
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