MIMSY - Young Adult Fantasy Fiction, revision 14

 These are the first few chapters of a work in progress (90% finished)

MIMSY

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,

And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

the frumious Bandersnatch!"

“Jabberwocky” - Lewis Carroll

The pre-dawn mist was thickest where the roadway dipped down towards the river; where only the tops of the two towers holding the cables of the bridge could be seen rising above it.  It was a soggy grey curtain so dense that those speeding across the span were far more intent on avoiding collisions with the blurred tail lights of those in front of them than on the shadowy pedestrian treading the walkway on the side. They were oblivious as the shadow of this intrepid soul carefully climbed over the barriers and scuttled along the dank three-inch edge of the beam. The traffic noise hid the sounds of the hammer used to breach the padlock and the rusty creak of the door hinge when it opened.

The intruder stepped into the hollow metal interior sitting atop its massive concrete pier, shivering slightly as the creaking door was pulled shut once more. A quick glance around using a disposable lighter provided assurance that no one else was hidden inside. Satisfied that this was the case, the intruder dowsed the light, and gave a casual shrug of the shoulder, allowing the strap of a backpack to drop to the floor. Another shrug removed the long, black, hooded raincoat from one shoulder, then the other. The intruder then slipped the dripping garment over a large bolt jutting out from the wall and,, using the lighter once more, peered around, almost as if expecting someone. But, other than the drivers zooming past at 50 miles per hour a little over 25 feet away, they were quite alone.

A flip of a switch and the interior was now dimly lit by a single five-watt bulb, keeping the intruder’s features hidden, but illuminating a ladder that led upwards into the darkness. The kilted, black-clad figure heaved a sigh and slung a bag over one shoulder, then began climbing up the rusty ladder to the top of the bridge tower before forcing open the access hatch. They climbed out and sat in the open air, their stocking-clad legs swinging out of the hole, pivoting on their butt-cheeks so that booted feet could dangle over the edge of the perch, their back to the gentle wind to keep what little exposed flesh that existed between the top of the kilt and the stockings remained warm.

The tops of the towers thrust above the fog, creating a surreal view of the roiling misty cauldron that was the river valley. The darkened peaks of the city buildings poked menacingly out of the fog, making it appear as if the ghostly buildings were somehow floating out of the clouds. Their shadowy silhouettes created jagged rents in the morning mists, the red lights at their peaks slowly blinking off the last of the sleepy night. As the orange glow of the sun rose up on the horizon, an occasional office window lit up, indicating a return to life in the shadowy hulks. The combination of sunrise and office lights gradually created sparkling jewels out of the towers that rose from the dewy curtain of the twilight.

Over the next few minutes, black sky gradually gave way to a lesser shade of blue as the sun began to rise. The shadowy intruder relaxed and lit a cigarette while watching. The flame revealed a face that could have been either a handsome girl or an effeminate man with fine features and oddly shaped ears, the tips more pointed in shape rather than rounded at the top. Their face was framed by thick, dark hair cut short on the sides and back, but long on top and in front in emo style so that it hung down to cover one or both eyes, depending on how they moved their head. The flicker of their lighter flame also glinted off the piercing in the eyebrow and the ring in the lip next to the end of the cigarette, as well as the studs in the leather collar surrounding their neck and those in the wide leather belt around their waist. Minutes later, the clouds took on a pinkish hue that indicated the beginnings of sunrise.

Taking another long drag, the orange tip of the burning, rolled brown leaves encased in thin white paper glowed brightly three times as the stranger contemplated their journey. The shadowy stranger had traveled almost 1100 miles, compelled to arrive at this spot, wondering what had made it so special.

The tip of the cancer stick glowed a brilliant orange once more as the mouth sucked in the smoke again and reminisced about being at the campus library, remembering how Kent had been searching through engineering and photography books all that morning until he found the picture of this particular span. He pointed to it and said, “If anything ever happens to me, or I just disappear, go there and wait. Go to that tower though.”

MARY-MACK

Well there's a little girl, and her name is Mary Mack
Make no mistake, she's the girl I'm gonna track
And a lot of other fella's, they would get her ‘pon her back
but I'm thinkin' that they'll have to get up early!

“Mary-Mack” – Trad. Scottish Folk Song

“Wait for what? Wait where? On the bridge? Under it?”

“You’ll know what and where when you get there,” Kent had said with an enigmatic smile. 

Two days later, he was gone.

Wait for what?

Wait for whom?

I tossed the butt off the tower, watching the orange glow brighten briefly as it fell, then disappear into the mists as I snorted.

“Go there and wait.”

For two weeks, I’d done just that. On the first day, I’d just gone to the bridge and hung out on the pedestrian walkway for several hours until a cop arrived and asked me what I was doing. I told him I was just enjoying the view, but he was persistent and asked a lot of questions that seemed to imply he was afraid I was going to jump. Once I realized what he was asking, I left and didn’t come back again for two days.

The next time I came, it was at night and I began to have these urges to climb over the railing, making me seriously wonder if I was contemplating suicide. But, each time I began to act on the urge, a group of people would come walking up out of the mists and I’d get chicken and run back to the “Y” where I was staying.

After that, I began coming here later and later at night until I discovered that the best time was just about an hour before sunrise. It took three attempts at climbing over and moving along the ledge before I finally figured out what I was supposed to do – open the access door and go inside the tower. The ledge was slippery and the access door was rusted and difficult to open. I yanked on it so hard that I almost slipped, frightening me to the point where I retreated back to the walkway and stood there, panting.

Was I contemplating suicide? Something inside me shouted No!  

I walked back to the Y right after that, shaking and scared so badly that I didn’t return for another two weeks.

When I did return, I discovered they’d painted everything, only this time, the access door had been padlocked. Undeterred, I came back the next night with a hammer.

I beat on the lock until it opened. Once I accomplished that, the newly-painted door opened easily, so I went inside and sat in the darkness. It wasn’t until I lit up my fourth or fifth ciggy that I noticed the light switch. I turned it on and the dim bulb lit up the interior of the metal tower just enough to look around the 15’ x 15’ space.

I sat there, wondering what to do next, so I lit up another cigarette. I smoked four more before heading back to the Y.

Then there came that foggy, foggy morning.

A new padlock now hung from the door, which I quickly opened in the same manner as before, creaking loudly as I pulled it open to step inside. I checked around with a light to make sure no one else had snuck in here, flipped the light switch then sat down to burn another cig. Just as I was about to flick my Bic, I heard the sound of traffic slowing and I began to panic. Had someone seen me come inside?

I quickly doused the lights and waited. There was definitely the sound of a large truck idling just outside. I thought that maybe there might be some sort of accident, but the rest of the traffic sounded like it was moving. Then I heard voices.

“Climb!” urged a voice in my head.

I was frozen there in panic for several seconds before the voices faded and the truck began to drive off.

“Climb!” said the inner-voice once more.

“Climb where?”

Then I looked up and saw a faint sliver of light. I flicked on the lights again and saw that there was a ladder leading up the tower. I flicked them off (in case someone else stopped to check inside here) and made my way up the ladder.

Upon reaching the top, I discovered the access hatch leading to the outside. Unscrewing three loose bolts, I unlatched the access cover and moved it aside, then popped my head up.

Oh, the view was so magnificent!

I felt as if I were in a heavenly, magical kingdom that floated in the clouds! Quickly pulling myself up and out onto the small ledge there, I sat, legs dangling over the edge, watching as the landscape peeked out from between the cottony mists. I was perfectly alone and finally feeling at peace enough to grieve over my losses. I must have sat there for almost an hour bawling and using up my small packet of tissues when the mists began to dissipate, so I climbed back down, returning to my bed where I wept some more.

As if drawn to that place, I visited the site every morning, just before sunrise, sitting up there to simply meditate and ground, or just to enjoy the solitude. I especially enjoyed the foggy mornings because, up here, it was my world; the one place I reigned. I closed my eyes and breathed in deep, as if to absorb the sheer peacefulness of what had become a very personal meditation spot, blotting out the pain and suffering I’d experienced in the world below.

I went up there another three or four times over the next week and found that I felt more and more “recharged” each time I went. Usually, I wore jeans during my visits, but tonight I’d gone out clubbing, wearing a black top and a black kilt skirt, desperately in search of companionship. I failed miserably, attracting exactly the wrong kind of person, so I came up here directly from the club. I went to the bridge and climbed, wanting to go someplace where I could scream, yell and rant at the world for taking away the one person I loved the most and leaving me so utterly and desolately alone.

Instead, I just sat up there, crying for a bit as I thought about Kent, missing him terribly, then sitting up and looking around, like a queen surveying her realm, smoking another cigarette down almost to the filter before I tossed the butt, watching the orange tip glow, then fade, as it tumbled down into the mists.

I’d just begun to stretch before heading back down when a noise startled me.

“Whatcha doin’ up here, me boyo?” said a voice beside me.

The unexpected sound startled me to the point where I jumped enough to unbalance me and I nearly fell off my perch, but he grabbed at the studded belt around my waist and held me fast.

“Steady on, Jocko!” he purred in a soft Irish brogue. “We wouldn’t want yer tae be slippin’ off into the mists now, would we? Wouldn’t be a good ting ter have your death on me hands, lad!! Oh no. Not ‘t’all!”

“First of all, ass-hat, I’m a girl, not a boy!” I said irritably as I looked over at the man. Or, what I thought was a man. I mean, he’d climbed out and was standing there, while I was sitting, yet we were almost eye-to-eye. He couldn’t have been more than three-and-a-half feet tall in shoes, reminding me of a jovial, ginger-topped, bearded, elfin-leprechaun figurine, including ears that were noticeably more pointed than mine. His bushy red eyebrows reminded me of furry caterpillars that seemed to use his eyelids as trampolines as he spoke.

“Beautiful up here, innit?” He commented as he pulled a pipe out of his vest pocket and began to puff upon it, smoke rising from the glowing bowl without him having so much as put a match to it.

“Who are you? How’d you get here...? How’d you… light that?”

“Aye, ‘tis certainly a loverly sight, it’tis!?” he repeated, ignoring my questions and, with a sweep of his pipe-stem, indicating the buildings and hilltops that peeked above the mists. “Sorta gives yer th’ feelin’ of floatin’, dunnit?”

He took another puff from his pipe and began to talk again. “Didn’t want to come to Amerikay, no, I dint. But me maither, she says ter me, she says, “Boyo, you go to Amerikay!” she says. “Go there an’ by Brighid, you’ll make your mark. So oi came. And here oi am!”

I looked at him and he looked back, teeth gleaming and eyes twinkling. I’m thinking it was his eyes that caused me to relax. They contained merriment, but no malice.

“Tell me, lass,” he asked, taking a puff from his pipe and his face growing somber. “Were ye close to him?”

“Huh?”

He pointed at my clothes.

“All the somber black ye be wearin’. Yer must be doin’ some powerful mournin’ ter have made your way up here jes ter sit a spell. Can’t say oi approve o’ yer short bob ‘o’ hair, th’ way it hangs in yer face, an’ all o’ the makeup ‘n’ setch, ‘specially ‘round the eyes. Makes yer face look all awash. But everyone has their way, I be tinkin’.” He took another puff from his pipe and asked again. “Were ye close to him?”

I coughed and waved away the smoke, trying to look irritated, but in reality, it just reminded me that I’d left the rest of my ciggies in my backpack at the bottom of the ladder.

“I’m not close to anybody!” I lied crossly. “And I dress this way because I like it!”

He squinted one eye and looked me up-and-down slowly, then nodded sagely. “I hain’t gaw nertin against yer choice of garb, lass. In fact, yer remind me of me own dear cousin, Eithne. Sweet lass, she was, but of a dark disposition, right down to her wings, she was!”

“Look, I don’t really care about your cousin, Eeny or Ainy or whatever you said her name was. I just want to be left al-..., wait… did you say... ‘wings’... just now?”

“Aye,” he said, looking down as he eased himself back into the opening, his toe searching for the ladder. “A mischievously tempestuous, yet melancholy one, that! Became a hooman mortal ter chase after some daft boy who didn’t know love from a library, and she prolly been witherin’ away from loneliness ‘ter since, as hoomans dunna live as long. Tis why I wait up here,” he said, pointing with the stem of his pipe as he slowly sank down the hole until nothing but his head was showing, “’T’was her favorite spot, these past few times, sittin’ ‘n’ a lookin at this here river. ‘T’was 'er favorite, e’en afore th’ bridge t’were built, yes indeed. She’d sit on th’ rock that’s now covered in cement jes’ below us and we’d discourse a bit a’fore she had to go. I comes up here ever so often ter see if’n she wants ter foller me back. I still hae her wings a hangin’ in me abode from when she shed them to acum hooman.”

He began to climb down.

“WAIT!” I called. My face must have been scrunched up in a conflict of emotions because he stopped and peered at me over the rim of the opening and began to chuckle softly.

“Yer don’t believe me, then?” he asked.

“I don’t… don’t know,” I stated, confused by this turn of events. Damn it, I’d come up here for the solitude and he’d interrupted it. But his interruption intrigued me.

“Well, yer welcome ter come and see… or not!” he said, and continued his descent.

I scooted over, sticking my legs inside until my feet made contact with the ladder, then started down carefully but I jumped when I heard his voice go “ah-WHEEeeeeeeee-Hooooh!” and fade echoingly downward.

“Are you alright?” I called, afraid he’d fallen.

“Aye, lass!” came his voice, faint and echoing in the hollow structure. Though I didn’t feel upset, I could tell I was frowning intensely (and disapprovingly) but I closed the hatch and began my slow descent. When I got to the bottom, the single light bulb seemed far too dim. In it’s glow, I could see he was wiping his hands on a handkerchief and grinning broadly.

“Ah, lass, ter hain’t nertin like a quick slide down the auld banister! Yer puts the instep of yer pups ag’in the sides of the rail to act as brakes, open yer palms a wee bit, and yer slides! They hain’t painted in a whoile so me hands got a bit nicked and rusted. A moment whilst I clean a bit, eh?”

“Who are you?” I asked again, my hands on my hips.

“Alasdair!” tsked a woman’s voice from the deep shadows, “Yer din’t mind yer manners yet agin?”

“Och, Mumsy, I din’t tink she’d actually come along, bein’ all high-fallootin with her airs ‘n’ sooch up there! But tell me, a’spite th’ hair bobbed so short she looks like a boy, hain’t she the spittin’ of ol Eithne?”

A mousy-looking woman came out of the depths of the darkness, sweeping at the damp floor with a broom. She squinted in the faint light and stared at me, her eyes blinking rapidly.

“OOOOhh! That she dar! That she dar!” said the woman. She was even shorter than the man, and as thin as he was stout. She wore a dun-colored skirt and a gauzy top, over which was a bodice and an apron. On her head, she wore a scarf and a snood to hold back her thick, heavy brown hair. The scarf hung over her brow like the brim of a hat, leaving her eyes bathed in its shadow. I had to laugh as she looked like something out of a renaissance faire or a Disney cartoon.

“Apologies, lass,” said the man, bowing formally with a broad sweep of his hand. “Oi’m known as Alasdair McGooghan, though me friends call me Dairsy. This here be me wife, Iola or Mumsy as she’s affectionately a-ferred to by all who know her. Come in! Come in!” he bade me.

“Come in where?” I asked, picking up my purse and frantically digging for my cigarettes.

“Why, down th’ stairway, deary!” called Mumsy, disappearing once again into the shadows. I squinted, then grabbed my lighter and followed, holding my hand, palm-out and expecting to have it hit the wall and end this hallucination. I cursed myself silently because I knew I should have eaten before coming up here, but I didn’t think it would be necessary.

My hand went through where my senses said a wall should be and I yelped as I almost fell. Flicking the lighter flame into existence, I gasped. There should have been nothing beyond that wall but air, 70 feet down to the water. Instead, the leather soles of my shoes clicked on flagstone and I stumbled down the first few steps of a narrow, enclosed, spiral staircase before catching myself on the handrail.

“Ouch, damn it!” I groused as the lighter got hot. I turned it off and shook it to help it cool in my hand as I continued my journey. I could hear Alasdair and Mumsy clumping down far below me, talking in low whispers, so I began to hurry a bit.

I plodded down the stairs in the murky darkness holding the rail with one hand while I ran the fingers of my other against the damp, rough wall. I’m a tactile person and it felt exactly like that of the sides of a castle I’d once visited over in Germany when my foster-parents took me on a European trip.

The downward spiral of the staircase seemed interminable and I lost track of how far we’d come, but it had to be somewhere near the waterline of the bay. The moment I thought that, the rock face of the wall became slimy. Another twenty steps down, there was a sudden, cool, arid breeze followed by a static-electric tingling and, from then on the wall was dry.

I stumbled at the bottom landing as my foot groped for the expected stair. Floundering around in the dark, my palms came into contact with a wooden threshold and sounds of movement emanated from within the darkened room.

“Hello?” I called.

“Come in! Come in!” cried Mumsy. I walked carefully forward and heard the door close behind me.

“Alasdair!” scolded Mumsy, “She hain’t like us wee folk. Yer should’er left th’ door open for the light until I unshuttered th’ winders!”

The light? I thought to myself. I couldn’t even see my hand in front of my face when I was walking down!

“Sorry Mumsy,” he said, chagrined.

“No never mind. I’m opening them now to let in some good, clean forest air anyhoo.”

My eyes had grown accustomed to the dark interior of the stairwell, so I blinked at the brightness of the feeble light coming in from the windows when Mumsy thrust open the heavy drapes. Where there should have been either murky water, or mucky silt was, instead, misty sun rays filtering down in yellowish blades from between branches of the woods surrounding the outside. By the angle of the light, it indicated this was either early in the AM or late in the afternoon. Since it had been early morning up above, I figured it would probably be the same here.

My eyes were blinking rapidly and watering a little due to the jarring brightness, though when I returned my gaze to the interior, I could barely make things out. As my eyes began to adjust, it appeared that I was in a comfortable-but-cramped, low-ceiling room that was neat and clean, containing sparse, rough, natural, yet comfortable furnishings. A slightly irregular, but mostly flat slate floor was blanketed here-and-there with carpets displaying Celtic designs and there were exposed beams and shelving everywhere.

“Have a seat, dearie, while I pour the hot water into the pot to steep,” said Mumsy.

As I began to sit, she scolded, “Och, no, not that ‘un. Uula be Alasdair’s chair! Choose the one thar in th’ corner and sit a spell.”

“I’ll stand a moment, if you don’t mind,” I said, watching as Alasdair built a fire in the hearth. Soon he had a merry flame flickering among the tinder and I couldn’t exactly see how he did it, but he either used his finger or the pipe stem to light it. Either way, the chill gradually left the room and the fire began to crackle merrily as he piled on wood. Now that I could see better, I looked around.

The walls were crudely spackled and whitewashed. The shelves contained hand-bound books, pots, pans and pottery of all hues and colors. The large stone hearth, where the fire crackled, dominated one far wall. Centered on the mantel was a tall, squat, intricately-carved clock that chimed politely at the quarter-hour. It wasn’t a normal clock, though, because the face had ten hours instead of twelve and the numbers there were more like symbols. It also had more “minute” marks and I soon realized it was a metric timepiece. The tick-tock was slower-paced and more pronounced as the second hand jerked with each swing. According to the position of the hands, it was 6:45 or some such, but it didn't indicate AM or PM. I looked at my own watch, which read 9:23 AM. I shook myself in an attempt to adjust and wished for a nice, strong latte.

Opposite the hearth was a large, heavy table that dominated the center of the room. Draped over the top was a red woven tablecloth. Atop this was a platter, holding a teapot, three cups, spoons, two bowls holding cream and sugar, and a plate of crackers and several jars of jam. Seeing the latter made my mouth water and my tummy rumble a bit, again reminding me I'd not eaten breakfast. Good, I thought. Maybe I can get some caffeine in me and wake up from this ridiculous nightmare! I grabbed a few of the crackers that already had jam on them and munched on them absently as I walked over to the windows and gazed outside while Mumsy fussed over the tea.

I rubbed my eyes because they didn’t seem to want to focus clearly on the outer landscape. I couldn’t tell whether my vision was being affected by my hunger or by the shrouding, wavering mists blowing across the yard that occasionally blurred and obscured the view. Gradually, I was able to make out the stone border, guarding the entrance to the dense forest about 30 yards or so outside their door.

Stretching out in front of me was a pleasant root garden arranged on either side of the door and the pathway between them leading to a small, green meadow dotted with yellow, red, and purple flowers before reaching the stone wall, followed by trees that seemed as tall as redwoods, but weren’t conifers, or any other kind of identifiable tree. As my eyes adjusted, I could make out an impossibly tall oak-like giant growing at the left edge of the house, dropping fist-sized acorns onto the ground.

Out in the forest, songbirds the size of eagles sang in the trees while squirrels that were larger than most dogs, flitted to-and-fro along with other critters. The foliage must have been extremely dense because it was almost as dark as evening among the trees, though occasional sun rays cut through the gloom like scimitars of light. Mumsy appeared at my side and handed me a cup and saucer set.

“One lump or two, dearie?” asked Mumsy.

“Pardon?”

“I was askin’ if’n you’d like one lump of sugar or two, Eith… erm, dearie?”

”Oh, uh, two, I guess,” I replied. She used tiny tongs to drop two cubes of sugar into my cup.

“Cream?”

“Uh, sure. Thanks.” Mumsy poured a dab of cream into my cup, then poured the hot tea in. I picked up the small spoon at the side of the saucer and stirred, then sipped. It was fragrant with a bouquet of wildflowers and yet, had that slight tartness of tea. I warmed my hands around the porcelain as I looked outside, watching nature’s creations frolic. I must have been staring for quite some time as my tea had gone cold when I finally gulped the rest of it down.

The clock on the mantel struck “seven”, even though my watch said it was just a little before ten in the morning. My mind and body revolted at the disparities in time and I felt myself get a little dizzy, as if I were becoming carsick.

“Would yer like some more tea, Miss… er…”

I jumped at her words and my nausea dissipated with a burp. “Oh! I’m sorry. I never introduced myself, did I? I’m Mary-Anne McLaughlin, though most people that know me just call me “Mary-Mack” or “Mack” for short.

Mumsy made a face and I was surprised I could see her features now. I wasn’t kidding when I said she was mousy looking! Her eyes were two black beads among the whites, and her nose was rather long and pointed, and her jaw was recessed, creating an overbite and giving her a buck-toothed appearance. All she really needed were whiskers to complete the look on her pinched features.

“Mack is not a name befittin’ a lady,” she scolded, her face all a-sour. “An’ ‘specially one wot’s got another that's more befittin’-like for a beauty such as yerself, though I dunna see the monniker of Mary-Anne fittin’ you noither! You ain’t the frilly, flouncy type, I be tinkin yer not, I do!”

I made a face and rolled my eyes. “I’m the seventh foster-child of eight and I had amnesia when I was adopted a few years back. The folks at Protective Services couldn’t figure out what to name me. I was told that the Director and Chief Nurse put their names together and this is what I got stuck with! Hell, I’d have been happy with a more individualistic name like Sunshine, Tuesday, April, Lilly, Autumn or Summerlea, but Mary-Anne was what I got.”

Dairsy sat down in a weathered old rocking chair. As he settled down, I could swear I heard it utter a creaking “ahhhh” when he reclined. As he began to rock, the chair started to repeat, “that’s-good, that’s-good!” The stubby little man began puffing on his pipe and looking thoughtful.

I jumped as Mumsy appeared next to me, an expectant look on her face. I realized that I’d been asked something.

“And yes, I would like more tea!” I said, regaining my wits. “Thank you very much!”

Mumsy smiled and said she’d be right back, wandering into the kitchen to heat more water.

“Set a spell,” invited Dairsy, pointing to the large green chair in the corner of the room. To those two, it would have been a couch, but it was just barely large enough to accommodate my skinny little butt. I felt as if I were in a kindergarten classroom where all the furniture was designed for the height of the students. As I sat, the chair groaned with a basso-profundo, “Ooooohhh-yeaaaaaah!” right out of that song from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.

Dairsy frowned at it, admonishing harshly. “Gurfell! Manners!”

It made one more apologetic groan as I moved to get comfortable, trying to pull my short skirt down to a more prudent length, since the seat was low enough that my knees were raised upwards and he might, accidentally, be able to look right up it. I compromised by pushing the center of the skirt between my legs and tucked my ankles up under me.

“Oi cain’t get over the resemblance, I cain’t,” he mumbled once more, chuckling with mirth, reminding me of why I’d come down.

“You said something about wings?”

“Och, I did,” he said, a sad look on his face. “They’re stored o’er there in the cabinet where she locked them up afore she left.”

“Can I see them?”

“If’n yer hae the key, yer might!” he said, taking a cup, saucer and plate of crackers and jelly from Mumsy. She handed me my refreshed tea and a plate of crackers and jelly as well.

“Oh,” I said, trying not to sound disappointed. “You don’t have the key?”

“Nay,” said Mumsy, bringing a teapot and the rest of the “digestives”, as she called them, and placing it on the table in front of us. She held the sugar bowl expectantly.

“Um, four?” I responded to the unasked question. Four lumps went in.

She held the bowl of cream, questioningly.

“Please,” I requested politely. She added that and sat a plate of jam covered crackers down beside the cup and I began to look around for a rabbit in a vest, looking at a pocket watch, complaining he was late.

Mumsy then set out her own place and called out, “Thanalome!” A rectangular ottoman seemed to scurry over to accommodate her. I swear, the piece of furniture began to pant like a puppy while a tassle swayed to-and-fro when she sat on it!

We sipped our tea and ate our cookies while making small talk. The crackers she served were more like the shortbread one of my foster-grannies used to make. They were dry but the jam piled atop them was tasty, sweet and moist. I had grape, strawberry, mint and something she called lavender/honey jam. I ate them all with relish and had two more cups of tea.

A short time later, my eyes became heavy and I felt as if I wanted to sleep. I remember Alasdair and Mumsy making a quiet fuss, helping me to a room and putting me on a bed.

KENT

“I wanna glide down over Mulholland
I wanna write her name in the sky
I'm gonna free fall out into nothin'
Gonna leave this world for awhile

Yeah, I'm Free...

Free Fallin'!”

- Free Fallin' – Tom Petty, Jeff Lynn

I dreamt strange things: Of having wings and flying; of causing mischief and polite mayhem; of playing rude jokes on “mundanes” and other beings; of… of… falling in love with dark hair and blue eyes and a jaw seemingly chiseled from stone…

I dreamt of shedding – cutting off my wings – to follow him, to hold him, to bring him here or to die with him, and finding I’d failed in all of those things. I awoke, crying, as he was slowly taken from me, his dark hair turning to grey, his chiseled jaw going slack and the blue eyes losing their lustre, then the face morphed, becoming narrower, the nose more aqualine, though the intensity of his blue eyes remained. As my dream continued, the face gradually morphed, the jawline softened, but was still strong. Features changed and moved around until I recognized him as my last lover, Kent. He kissed me and smiled sadly, just before his entire being exploded into a bloody mash, devoured by sharks.

My sobbing must have alerted Mumsy, for she came rushing into my room.

“Are ye all right, dearie?”

I sat up abruptly, rubbing sleep and tears from my eyes as she sat next to me and put her arm behind me, providing a comforting hug.

“It was just a bad dream, Mumsy. I’m fine.”

She cocked her head as if she didn’t believe me, and continued to hug me for several moments. When she let go, she said, “As yer be awake, then, tis time to sup! I’ve brought ye some water and a bowl ter freshen up.”

Mumsy left and I shook a little as I rose and poured some water from a pitcher into a basin to wash my face. To my surprise, my purse lay at the foot of my bed, so I quickly brushed my hair, touched up my makeup and dug into the zippered pockets until I found some tights to slip on. While I didn’t find him creepy, the furniture was so short that I didn’t want Dairsy getting any free looks if I could help it. I mean, I wanted to keep my faux pas to a minimum here. I liked Mumsy.

I emerged from my room and found it had grown dark outside. The place was lit by a multitude candles and the fire still cheerily crackling in the hearth. On the mantle, the clock showed that it was a little after 9, even though my wristwatch indicated that it was just after 2 in the afternoon.

I still towered over the two and had to duck under some of the ceiling beams, but I made it over to the table without too many incidents, opting to sit on the floor rather than on a chair. I was a little lower than normal, which Mumsy solved by telling Alasdair to fetch me a cushion off the couch, allowing me to sit “Saracen-style” on the pillow, with my feet folded and ankles crossed beneath the table.

We ate a delicious stew that had all sorts of veggies, fresh herbs and succulent meats in it, though I couldn’t tell you what meat it was. On top of that, there was a fresh loaf of bread and honeyed butter to dip into. I ate three helpings before remembering I’d “turned vegan” a short while back. I rationalized my lapse by thinking that this wasn’t slaughter-house meat and it had probably been hunted by those that used everything from the animal. My veganism had more to do with protesting wasteful consumerism anyhow.

We finished off the large pot of stew, with Mumsy and Alasdair eating almost twice as much as I did!

Once the table was cleared and the dishes washed, we sat around the hearth with goblets of fired clay and filled with a strong mulled wine. Both Mumsy and Alasdair pulled out pipes and began to puff on them. I don’t know what it was they were smoking, but it smelled like church incense and made me cough as smoke filled the room.

Alasdair gave Mumsy a look and she twirled her finger and the next thing I know, that smoke climbed straight up, hugged the ceiling, then crawled down the mantle wall until it reached the hearth opening before it disappeared, rushing up the chimney! I dug my own cancer-sticks from my purse, but when I lit up I found, to my surprise, that they tasted disgusting. I ended up throwing the entire pack into the fire.

Mumsy worked on some knitting and Dairsy pulled out an old, yellow-paged tome from a shelf and began to leaf through it.

“What's that?” I asked Dairsy.

He smiled and closed it onto his index finger so that it acted as a bookmark.

“Tis me Book O' Spells,” he said.

“Spells? Are you some sort of Wiccan?”

He laughed. “I be one of the wise ones, yes, but not in the hooman sense, lass. Tis a book of my studies and observations of the Art of Thaumaturgy and Magecraft. I've been keeping it since I t’was a wee apprentice.”

“So, it's more of a journal then?”

“Ye might say that.”

Satisfied with the answer, my eyes wandered around the room, but my gaze seemed to be consistently drawn to the locked cabinet. I wanted very much to look inside at the wings there and touch them; see what they were like. I had an urge to ask if we could break into it, but I was also afraid.

“Tell us about your childhood, dearie,” said Mumsy, interrupting my thoughts, but her needles continuing to bob and click.

“I’m sorry?” I said, hiding my confusion by sipping gently at the wine. It tasted of wild berries, honey and sweet grasses.

“Tell us about yer days as a wee cailín?” she said again.

“Colleen? No, my name is… oh, wait! I remember! That’s the Irish Gaelic word for girl!”

“Siá, cailín tis the word, indeed, though we speak more Gnomish and Elven than hooman Gael. Tell us what ‘twas like fer ye,” said the old woman in a gentle voice.

“I… I don’t remember much,” I told her truthfully. “I had amnesia when I was found wandering around. I went to a shelter and then was adopted. I was told they estimated my age at about 13 then. I was supposedly in a traumatic incident that affected my memory. I was in a coma for a while and, when I awoke, they told me I was an orphan, though I couldn’t remember anything about myself or my family. They told me a little about what happened, but it seems I had nobody other than my late mom and dad, telling me they’d found their remains in a canyon. Their car had swerved and hit the side of the mountain, throwing me out, and then went over the cliff.

“I went to a foster home. Homes, actually. I was passed around to various families because I was what they referred to as a… ‘troubled youth’. Again, I don’t remember much because of the accident and I didn’t really feel as if I were troubled in any way, but I was told I’d bottled up a lot of my emotions and then ‘acted out’ when I was in one of my moods. I guess I caused a lot of problems for my fosters, though, because I’d continually run away from home. I liked the last ones though. Those fosters were good to me and the others.”

“Fosters?”

“Foster-parents – people who volunteer to help raise you as if you’re their own, but you never are. Most of them are in it for the money.”

“I see. And, just what kind of trouble did you cause?” asked Dairsy, looking up from the book and cocking his brow.

I sighed.

“I have a tendency to be attracted to older, rugged-looking guys. I’ve never looked my age and the guys I chased always just assumed I was ‘old enough,’ mainly because of my attitude. I guess it makes me seem older than I look.

“My ‘fosters’ would set them straight and there’d be a big fight between us all when they’d do that because I’d insist that I was in love with the guy.”

“And what made the last… um… fosters… better?” he asked.

I blushed. “Well, their second-eldest foster-son was someone I just… well, I don't know if you believe in this, but it was love at first sight; as if we’d known each other all our lives – as if we were meant for each other and each other alone.

“To everyone around us, we appeared to be brother-and-sister close, not romantically inclined, but I could feel something else there. I know he felt it too, so we’d signal each other with little touches here-and-there, or with certain jests or facial expressions. I don't think our foster-parents even knew anything was going on because he went away to college shortly after I arrived. But, like I said, the attraction was immediate and we both recognized it. He understood me and never belittled some of the thoughts I seemed to blurt out.

“He would come home from school and we’d hang out together. And, this time, there was no real way for the foster's to keep us apart. Each time he would come home, we'd take long walks and have intense discussions, much to the annoyance of the other two foster-girls in the family who had a crush on him as well.

“We both knew that the foster's were listening to our conversations and were satisfied when they realized that we talked about mostly mundane things like what was going on at school for each of us and what we were interested in pursuing. But, we’d developed this sort-of code, using innocent-sounding phrases and double-entendre’s that sounded like insults, to tell the other how we felt.

“Over the course of the next few months, they decided that it was all just platonic and began to leave us alone. Of course, that’s exactly what we wanted them to believe. Once they did that, well…”

“What happened?”

“Kent…” I began, noticing that they both started at the mention of his name, “Kent was something of a dare-devil and was going to school at UC San Diego. For the next two years, he’d come home and I pretty much monopolized his time, much to the consternation of the other two girls. Again, the fosters would monitor our conversations, but what they heard were my questions about academics and whether or not the school would be a good fit for me as well. He then suggested that I arrange for a visit.

So, in my senior year of high school, I bought a train ticket and went to visit… not just the school, but him. He seemed very happy to see me, even though it was a surprise, and began to show me around campus. We had lunch there, then went to the library to do some reading and, afterwards, he took me to a party.

While we were there, Kent went off to talk to some buddies and get me a drink when some creepy guy plopped down next to me and put his arm around me, holding me down. Then he began to kiss and grope me while I tried to squirm and get away. When Kent returned, I’d just pulled the guys hand out from under my tee and slapped him. Kent saw it and began yelling at the guy. They got nose-to-nose and were about to fight when I pulled Kent away. I calmed him down and he spent the rest of the time at the party either holding my hand, or us sitting together with his arm around me.”

“And?” said Mumsy.

I blushed and smiled a little. “I found I kinda liked it.”

She smiled in return and nodded while I took a long gulp of wine, trying to keep my eyes from getting all misty. “He was the one that gave me the nick-name of ‘Mack’ and it sorta stuck, even though he called me ‘Annie’ in private. Anyway, we both got drunk and I confessed to him that I was very attracted to him and he confessed his attraction to me and, well… one thing led to another, and we went up to his dorm room.”

“I see,” said Mumsy without approval or disapproval. “So, did yer marry the lad?”

“No,” I replied sadly.

“Oh? Why? What happened?”

I paused, not sure how much I wanted to reveal about my past to relative strangers, but I discovered I felt very comfortable with the two of them.

“I'm not sure where to begin...”

“Just tell us in your own way, dearie,” said Mumsy, soothingly as she continued to knit.

I sighed. “One of Kent’s hobbies was hang-gliding and, over the next semester, whenever I went to visit him, he took me along on his flights, using a double-harness on the kite rig. Oh, my God but that was the most wonderful, exhilarating things I’ve ever experienced! We would take a running start and head right off the cliff with this kite on our back and spend the next several hours soaring and floating through the air like a bird! I would close my eyes and feel as if... as if...”

“As if what, dearie?”

I looked away for a moment and found I was staring at the cabinet, so I said softly, “As if I had wings…”

My words drifted off and there was as a strange tingling between my shoulders, and an odd niggling in the back of my mind began to make its way forward. I began to cry softly.

Mumsy and Dairsy waited respectfully as I dug into my purse for some tissues. I blew my nose and dabbed at my eyes before I continued.

“Six months later, I graduated from high school and decided to go to the same university. Kent and I moved in together. Oh, my God, we were so in love! Kent was a senior by then, majoring in avionics and engineering and he began experimenting with a new hang-glider design of his own, using lighter, and supposedly stronger, materials. I helped him as much as I could, but often had to study on my own. I was majoring in photography and film, so my foster parents had helped me buy some second-hand equipment. When he completed the prototype, we went out to the glider port and he asked me to make a video of his inaugural flight so he could show it to his professor.

“Along with redesigning the glider, he had created a unique infrared scope that was supposed to detect thermals, and maximize lift and flight time for when we doubled-up on the kite frame. He wanted to test it out before we both went up, so he flew solo on the first run. He ran off the cliff and disappeared, then came back up. It seemed to work really well and he told me so on the radio.

“It was so graceful to watch, all the swooping and circling. He climbed up until he was almost out of sight and then circled to come down for his landing. That was when… he was in… he had some sort of… something went wrong during his landing approach and he... He seemed to aim… I want to call it a flying accident, but it wasn’t. I mean, I was the one that was supposed to have the suicidal tendencies, but he...”

I choked back a sob.

“Something on the kite either broke or he undid it when he was coming in for a landing. I thought I’d hallucinated the entire thing, but I didn’t. He came flying towards us, making the gentle curve from the ocean. Just before he got to the cliff, the kite folded and he disappeared.”

“Oh, my stars!” gasped Mumsy. “What happened?”

I choked back a sob and swallowed twice before saying in a quiet voice, “Apparently, he crashed, twenty feet below the edge.

“I screamed and tried to run toward him and they held me back as I looked over the edge and saw the wreckage and the sharks making the water froth below. I kept screaming his name and it took four of our friends to drag me back, to keep me from jumping in after him…”

I burst into tears and they left me alone for several minutes until I regained my composure.

“It was wonderful and horrible,” I told them. “The flying, I mean. When we flew together, Kent would zoom down and then climb up on the thermals and we’d circle around and around, getting higher and higher.

“The last thing he said over the radio was that he wanted to test a landing theory and he was circling to gain speed for the stall when it… when he…” I stopped and gulped. “They never found his body. That was just a little over two months ago. I… I… sorta… quit going to classes after that happened and just spent all my time at Kent’s apartment, crying. I guess I’ve flunked out of college and the semester ends in two weeks so I’ll have to decide whether to get a job or go back to the fosters because they’ll be closing down the dorms.

“I just wanted to stay at our apartment, but Kent’s landlord told me I couldn’t, because the lease had run out, so I began to wander. Then, one of our mutual friends hands me an envelope and tells me its some money that all of our friends have put together to give me. Two days later, the fosters came up and took all his stuff away and asked me if I wanted to come back with them. I told them no, and the next day, I got on a bus and came here… I mean, to the city… you know… up there.”

“Ah, yes,” said Mumsy.

“Why did yer come here?” asked Dairsy.

“Something Kent told me one time when we were in the library.”

“Oh?”

“Yes… he took me in there and we got on the internet and he showed me a picture of the bridge. He told me, ‘If anything happens to me, go there.’ So I did.”

“I see,” said Dairsy, his face in a contemplative set. He waited several moments before cocking his head and narrowing his eyes before asking, “Do ye often have thoughts of flying with wings?”

I looked up, startled.

“How did you…? Wait, do you mean, do I dream of it?” I asked, wiping my eyes and blushing. I hesitated before answering and they both looked at me, almost expectantly. “Yes, I do. A lot. Even before I fell in love with Kent. But, then, so do – or did – many of my friends. Now, almost all of them are unhappy or depressed, though I try to help, but…”

“But?” asked Mumsy, softly.

“But… I don’t know what to say to them to snap them out of it. Any time I try, they just… just… push me away!

“I mean, I tried to get them interested in taking up gliding as well, but a few looked afraid and the others just dismissed me, telling me they couldn’t afford it. We could, though – Kent and I. He always seemed to have money. I just knew that, if I could get my friends to go up with us, they’d get their joy of life back!”

Dairsy gave me a puzzled look.

“These friends of your’n. Did you know them well?”

“Not as much as I’d liked. I mean, I called them my ‘friends’ but we only hung out because we'd met at concerts because we listened to the same music or, get stoned or drunk or something. I didn’t know where most of them lived. I guess I simply assumed they were students like me because I’d see them all on campus. A few of them, though, seemed like they might have been homeless. I know that Pip and Andrea sometimes slept out in the park until I invited them up to our apartment when it got cold. They usually refused, though. Kent often told me to simply leave them be.”

Dairsy and Mumsy looked at each other when I mentioned those names. Then Dairsy spoke again. “Did… any of them… believe in… in mythology? Specifically, Celtic mythology.”

I thought about it for a bit.

“I don’t know.” I responded. I paused and then my words came out in a rush. “I’m thinking that they lost the ability to believe in anything anymore. Most of my friends didn’t even believe in themselves. They didn’t believe in life; didn’t believe in an afterlife; didn’t believe in anything. It’s as if their souls were empty, like uncharged or dying batteries.

“I would talk to them and try to get them to believe in something, but they always put everything down. Some of them were really good, loving people when I’d first met them, but something inside them simply… ceased... at some point and it was like a cancer spreading through them, turning everything black and making them really negative.

“Others were either extremely self-centered. I thought, at first, it was because they’d either come from privileged families and thought everything was their right – or they never had anything, and felt they were owed everything.”

“Oh? How so?”

I shrugged. “If they couldn’t obtain something easily, they would steal it; even to the point where they’d attack others and take from them. Afterwards, they would snicker and make snide comments about their victims while they took drugs to get over the guilt, and…”

I suddenly realized what I was saying, then shuddered and took another sip of wine, sitting in silence for a bit. Dairsy simply wore a thoughtful look for several minutes before he returned to reading his book and Mumsy shook her head sadly as she continued her knitting.

Now filled with a nervous energy and thinking I'd said all the wrong things, I got up and looked around the room. In one dark corner, I found a harp and ran my fingers over the strings, startling both my hosts. I brought it back to my chair and plucked randomly at it, which progressed into something more.

I must have learned to play piano at one point in my life because I began to play melodies with an ease I didn’t know I had. I fell into one tune – a particularly melancholy one, playing it hesitantly at first, as if struggling to remember it. On the third try with this melody, Alasdair began to sing in a soft, yet strong tenor about a maiden and her lost love and Mumsy joined in on harmony. I couldn’t stop playing as long as they were singing and, they kept singing as long as I continued playing. By the end, we were all crying and blowing our noses and hugging each other.

“I’m tinkin’ that’d be enough for this night,” said Mumsy, gently dabbing at her nose with a kerchief before removing the harp from my hands and placing it back in the corner. I went to bed with a heavy heart and fell into a deep sleep, once more dreaming about black-veined wings, laughter, love and pranks.

MORNING

“Morning has broken,

like the first morning
Blackbird has spoken,

like the first bird
Praise for the singing,

praise for the morning
Praise for them springing

fresh from the word”

“Morning Has Broken” From the old Scots-Gaelic tune “Bunesson”

Words by Eleanor Farjeon

The next morning, I was the first to awaken, so I rekindled the banked kitchen fire and put on a kettle, then looked in the larder for breakfast. Mumsy appeared a few moments later and shooed me out, instructing me to dust shelves and sweep the floor.

“May I go outside for a bit?” I asked after I completed my task. Mumsy stopped in her tracks and had that deer-in-the-headlights look.

“Nil, ye may naught,” stated Dairsy, almost as a command as he joined us in the room. Then he softened it a bit, “Least naught until our guests arrive.”

“Guests?”

“Siá,” said Mumsy. “We shall have guests soon enough. Tis why I ask that you help me wit the cleanin’ and moppin’ if ye would.”

“I guess I could help.”

I mopped, dusted, cleaned, folded, rearranged, chopped, cooked, cleaned again and otherwise did what I was told. This amazed me as I wouldn’t do these things before when I lived in the foster homes. I’d been quite the rebel when living in those homes, because I never felt as if I were actually a part of the family – so I never did anything to help around the household, ducking out in the early hours of the morning and not returning until late.

Here, I somehow felt I belonged. Back at the foster’s, I was always being judged, criticized and scolded, no matter how I tried, so I simply thought, why try? Here, in the presence of Mumsy and Dairsy, I was…, I think the word would be encouraged. I can’t put my finger on the exact difference, but there was a sense of comfort and accomplishment. I seemed to know exactly what Mumsy wanted just before she told me and, when she saw me moving to do it, she complimented me instead of telling me to do what I was already doing, saying things like, “Excellent, dearie!” or “Just what I was about to ask you to do. Thank you!”

The clock struck on the three-quarter hour as I walked carefully into the room, heading over to a low table while balancing a large tray filled with empty cups surrounding an enormous glazed ceramic pot filled with hot tea. As I set it down, there came a knock at the door facing the yard (vs the “back door” that I’d entered, which now seemed to have disappeared behind a set of curtains). Dairsy answered and in came a gaggle of folk dressed in garb similar to what Mumsy and Dairsy wore. Even with the plain nature of the cloth, they all looked to be dressed in their best. They were similar to Mumsy and Dairsy as well, though some were shorter or darker than my hosts, while others were taller or lighter in skin tone. The door had barely closed when another knock would sound and more folks would enter. This happened over-and-over until the room was almost overflowing, yet there always seemed to be room for more folk as they arrived. I stood off to the side, nibbling on a cookie and simply observed.

Odd, I thought, with this many people in the room, we should all be crushed against the walls! Still, I didn’t want to find out if that would happen, so I attempted to go outside. Each time I did, I was pushed inward by a gaggle of newly-arriving guests. I finally gave up and went to sit on the floor in a corner of the room where I’d found the harp. It was slightly raised, as if it were some sort of dais or stage, upon which Thannalome and Gurfel had been placed. It allowed me to sit and simply observe, my eyes just at head-level to most of the guests. To my satisfaction, I was left to myself, though many gave me side-long looks.

Then she came in.

No, she didn’t ‘come in’…

She made an entrance.

You almost expected trumpets to blare as she appeared, but when you looked at her, you realize that it would have been far to ‘over the top’ for someone of her noble nature. However, when she did step through the doorway, the murmur of voices gradually died down and a path slowly opened among those in attendance. People knew just how far to step back and allow her to greet the hosts.

And she was simply…

Stunning...

…more ethereal…

…more beautiful…

…more… elegant…

...more… regal… than anyone else present.

She was clad in shimmering white that appeared to create a glow about her. Nor did she ‘walk’. Instead, the woman seemed to float through the room, smiling and nodding to each person in greeting as she passed them, her route allowing her to move near enough so that she could greet everyone personally at some point, with the deferential pathway opening before her and closing behind, creating a respectful clearing around her.

I watched in awe as this stunning lady approached, and wanted to stand, but I’d hit my head on the beam twice already, so I simply remained seated, half-hidden by the sheer number of those in attendance.

She had a sophisticated, stately appearance of someone pampered, yet not spoiled; accustomed to deference, but not demanding it; so elegantly dressed and toned that you might think of her as a wealthy debutante at her promenade. Her eyes, however, gave witness to the fact that she’d seen far more, for far longer, than first impressions would indicate.

Her height and radiance stood out in stark contrast to all the rest in attendance, as if it were ordained that she be the center of attention. Her hair was long, straight and a silvery-white. It shimmered with a surreal radiance that had a backlit quality.

Her alabaster skin was flawless, with none of that parchment-thin quality of an albino, none of the bluish veins showing against the white skin. Instead, it had a moon-glow appearance to it. That glow, that albedo seemed to increase with each step, being fueled by the loving adoration she absorbed from the crowd, and then reflected back.

The gown this elegant woman wore was a marvel, appearing to be spun from abalone shell and silk, shimmering with color, but not quite opaque; and sheer enough that I could see the outline of her figure when the light hit it ‘just so. But, even when you looked, you couldn’t really see anything inappropriate because the explosion of rainbow colors reflecting off the material. She had curves, even with her impossibly slim build, but that was all you noticed.

As she walked, she looked from side-to-side, calling out a soft acknowledgment here and a kind word there, not worried for a moment about tripping or being trapped. She strolled through the room as if she knew every inch, every step, every crack, every incline, every warp and imperfection in the slate stones. Not once did she look where she was going.

As I gazed longingly upon her continence, there was an air about her that made me want to kneel at her feet and lay my head upon her lap, knowing she would stroke my hair and comfort me. I knew that, if she were to command, I would obey, following her wildly and willingly…, and that thought frightened me a little.

I began to panic when I realized she would soon be directly in front of me and wondered if I should move away or go outside. Instead, I simply rose to my feet (narrowly avoiding bumping my head on the rafter for a fourth time) and smiled like an idiot as I held out my hand to assist her stepping up onto the dais.

When my hand touched hers, she finally noticed me and a slight gasp escaped her lips. The woman rushed forward, stopping short when she was but inches from me, before reaching up to stroke my cheek, her eyes searching every inch of my face as a look of hope and happiness formed on hers.

“You’ve cut off all your hair!” she cried, putting one hand to her mouth as the fingertips of the other combed through my short locks as she stared.

“Yes, a few months ago,” I said, running my fingers along my scalp in a nervous gesture, pulling my hair fully out of my eyes for a moment. I swear that, when she spoke, you heard an otherworldly chorus singing an operatic chorale of “aaaAAAaah’s” in the background. It was unsettling because they went away as quickly as she stopped speaking.

“My stars!” she gushed, hugging me. Not knowing what to do as this stranger embraced me, my hands flailed, outstretched behind her before wrapping around her lower back and returning the hug. When it broke, she held my upper arms in her hands and smiled.

“Just look at you! You haven’t ch…”

Mumsy approached to greet her guest and whispered something in her ear. The woman’s eyes grew wide as Mumsy spoke. When Mumsy was through, I saw the woman's gaze return to me then looked away with a horrible sadness that made me want to pull her back into the hug and comfort her. More than one tear coursed down her cheek.

“Aoife,” said Mumsy, holding the woman’s arm as she introduced us. “This be a friend who calls herself Mary-Anne McLaughlin, though she says her friends call her ‘Mack” or “Mary-Mack” but I’ve told her it’s not a name befittin’ a lady. Mary-Anne don’t seem to fit her neither. But Mary-Anne she is.”

Mumsy turned to me to continue the introductions.

“Mary-Anne, this h’are be me second-cousin, thrice removed, Aoife Beitha O’Tighe.”

“Hello Effie Baya Orteega,” I said, trying to imitate what I thought Mumsy had called her and pulled at the hem of my skirt, putting one foot behind the other and dipping down. My goddess! Did I just curtsy??

“Aoife is just fine, my child,” she said in that beautiful voice-with-chorale, gently correcting my pronunciation. Her smile was a brilliant white. She reminded me of that scene in Lord of the Rings where Frodo meets Galadriel. But Cate Blanchett didn’t come close to this sort of otherworldly beauty, even with all the CG.

In contrast to my clumsy bobbing and weaving like a spastic dancer whenever I tried to navigate the room to avoid furniture, people and ceiling beams, Aoife seemed to not have an ounce of ineptitude as she floated over to Gurfell, the chair that I’d occupied last night. I could see the piece of furniture sidle up to her, cat-like, its cushion pushed out obscenely and wiggling like a tongue as it brushed against her shin.

“OOH YEA-,” She cut off the sound with a wave of her hand and, gracefully brushing her gown behind her as she sat down, the chair expanding and resizing to accommodate her diminutive stature.

“Why didn’t it do that for me last night?” I muttered softly.

“You have to know how to ask,” said Aoife to me in a sotto voice so quiet that I couldn’t tell whether it emanated from her mouth or inside my head.

More people filed in, all of them gasping in shock when they noticed the two of us sitting together, but quickly recovering after I was introduced. With the exception of Aoife, who sat on Gurfell as if it were a throne, everyone else stood, gathering in other parts of the room while engaged in hushed conversation as they cast furtive glances in my direction.

Within moments, there were well over 200 guests in attendance! They should have been packed into this tiny cottage like sardines in a tin; instead, the room seemed to expand and fill out to accommodate everyone comfortably. And a cool breeze from the open windows kept the room airy.

My feet were tired and I desired to sit, so I moved the hassock called ‘Thannalome’ until it was next to Aoife. I looked at it and asked, in a pleasant voice, “May I sit upon you?”

“Of course!” said the furniture. “Why else would yer be movin’ me?”

I jumped and Aoife turned to scold it.

“Thannalome! Behave yourself with guests!”

“Eithne? She’s not a guest!”

Aoife gave the settee an imperious glare. “This is Mary-Anne McLaughlin, Thannalome!” she scolded, giving the second half of my name an odd pronunciation. “Now, accommodate her!”

“As you wish, Miss Aoife!” it said deferentially, growing to seat me modestly. To my amazement, while I towered over Aoife, my head didn’t hit the beam this time. Either I’d shrunk or… no, I didn’t shrink. I was still taller than anyone there, but the beam was now a comfortable height above my head, so that, even if I stood…

I stared at it in wonder, then shook my head. “I must have cracked my skull on it harder than I thought,” I muttered to myself

As I sat, all the talking in the room gradually ceased and all the heads bowed. Aoife made a small gesture and everyone’s head rose and the rumble of voices began again, though far more subdued.

“So,” I began, trying to make polite conversation, since no one else seemed to be talking to me, “You’re Effie? Spelled E-F-F-I-E?”

She laughed politely, “Neither, it is! I am Aoife.”

“Ava?”

“Almost. It's pronounced 'AY-fah' spelled A-O-I-F-E.”

I chuckled. In my head, that spelling looked more like “Effie” and must have said so, because she gave me a polite laugh.

“Yes, I can see how it might appear so!”

“Supper is served!” called Dairsy from the outside door. He walked in and was followed by two burly men-folk, carrying a spit, upon which was a side of… well, meat. It smelled of smoke and sizzling fat and herbs and spice. In other words, its aroma had me drooling.

Dairsy carved it easily with a long sword-like knife and the first fatty slices were given to Aoife. Then the next two slices, both rare and juicy, were given to me and to Mumsy. Everyone but Aoife and I seemed to serve ourselves.

We were offered plates of steamed vegetables, leafy greens, rice, noodles, bread, honey-butter, gingerbread, followed by cups of a cool, fermented liquid that tasted like a fruity beer. I ate a salad (missing tomato, which didn’t seem to be in evidence) and then the meat and some potatoes (which also had a sweet quality to them) and some of the steamed greens along with a cup of honey-flavored wine.

Nobody talked to us. Nobody approached us. Not even Mumsy and Dairsy.

“Why… is everyone avoiding us?” I finally asked Aoife.

“They’re waiting to see what happens, I guess,” she said cryptically, cutting off a chunk of meat with one knife, stabbing it with another and putting it into her mouth. But she made the crude act look elegant, while my careful cutting of the meat into manageable chunks and daintily picking them up with my fingers looked uncouth by comparison.

I began to think that they were treating Aoife like she was very special, so I asked, “Are you royalty or something?”

Aoife stopped eating and gave me an astonished look.

“What makes you say that, child?”

“It’s the way everyone is treating you. They’re very… deferential. Are you their Queen?”

She laughed and the musical choir laughed with her.

“No, my dear, I am not a Queen, but I am a Princess, as are y… as was my sister. Pass me some of the gingerbread, please?”

“Of course, Effie… I mean, Aoife!”

When I handed it to her, the gingerbread finally triggered why I’d thought of that name. A poem by e.e. cummings popped into my head and I began to recite it:

“here is little Effie's head

whose brains are made of gingerbread…”

I giggled nervously when I realized I'd said it aloud and heard a collective gasp go up from the people nearest to us in the room. Aoife turned to me.

“I'm sorry. What was that bit of doggerel?” she asked, her voice tinged with terseness.

I grabbed my purse and pulled out my journal, where I copied down the prose and verse of poets I admired.

“It’s something by a poet named e.e. cummings,” I explained. “He’s famous because he broke all the rules and created new ones. He’s sort of my hero in the world of poetry.”

“Broke the rules? What rules?”

“Poetry rules. Grammatical rules. Punctuation rules. He didn’t always follow standard practices so that you could interpret what he wrote in several different ways. Sometimes he spelled his name all in lower case, and sometimes wrote a poem within a poem and, by reading it one way or another, or all together, it could give you different meanings and such. Editors were always trying to correct his grammatical usage and he fought with them until he died.”

“Oh? This… bit of verse; how does it go?”

I began again:

here is little Effie's head

whose brains are made of gingerbread

when judgment day comes

God will find six crumbs

stooping by the coffinlid

waiting for something to rise

as the other somethings did-

you imagine his surprise

bellowing through the general noise

Where is Effie who was dead?

-to God in a tiny voice,

i am may the first crumb said

whereupon its fellow five

crumbs chuckled as if they were alive

and number two took up the song

might i'm called and did no wrong

cried the third crumb, i am should

and this is my little sister could

with our big brother who is would

don't punish us for we were good;

and the last crumb with some shame

whispered unto God, my name

is must and with the others i've

been Effie who isn't alive

just imagine it I say

God amid a monstrous din

watch your step and follow me

stooping by Effie's little, in

(want a match or can you see?)

which the six subjective crumbs

twitch like mutilated thumbs;

picture His peering biggest whey

coloured face on which a frown

puzzles, but I know the way-

(nervously Whose eyes approve

the blessed while His ears are crammed

with the strenuous music of

the innumerable capering damned)

-staring wildly up and down

the here we are now judgment day

cross the threshold have no dread

lift the sheet back in this way

here is little Effie's head

whose brains are made of gingerbread

I giggled again and then realized why it had come to my memory and I began to babble.

“The reason it came to me your name, Aoife, the way it's spelled makes it sound like ‘Effie’ in my head and it just suddenly came to mind when you made the request for gingerbread…”

I realized that I was babbling and paused. “Oh, my God, I’m sorry! I wasn’t trying to make fun of…”

Aiofe held up her hand and smiled. “No offense taken, my dear.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am. First of all, as I said, it’s pronounced AY-fah, not Effie. Effie is a contraction of the human world’s Greek name, Euphemia, or ‘pleasant sounding.’ Mine is a variation of the name Eve, one of the ancient goddesses of the fae – some say one of the original fae beings, and a sister of Dana.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry for misconstruing it, but in my head -!”

“Do not worry, my dear. You are among strange people using strange words and accents in a strange place. Mistakes will be made.” She pointed at my journal and asked, “May I... see that?”

Aoife took the book out of my hand and began reading through it, smiling at some of the entries and her eyes tearing up at others. She read aloud the Yeats, Joyce and Burns, of course, along with Baudelaire, Longfellow and, surprisingly, song lyrics I'd included by George Harrison, Bob Dylan, Jim Morrison, and John Lennon, among others.

“How delightful!” she said. “You have a love of poetry!”

“I do.”

“So do I!” she told me, “Would you like to hear one?”

“I'd... love to!” I said, earnestly.

She then bowed her head as if preparing or remembering, and then began to recite a poem about the wind in the meadow. Everyone immediately stopped speaking to listen and I was enchanted as well. The imagery was vivid and made you both elated and want to cry. As she gently finished, we all clapped, enthusiastically.

“That was beautiful,” I told her.

“Thank you,” she said, sadly. “It was written... by my... sister.”

“Oh, how… Oh!” I was now uncomfortable. It was obvious that her sister was no longer.

“Do not weep,” she said softly, a bittersweet smile on her face. “I have shed enough tears for us both.”

“What was she like?” I asked.

Aoife looked at me with sadness in her eyes for a very long time before placing her hand on my cheek and quietly saying, “Very much like you.”

WINGS

She's so high

High above me, she's so lovely

She's so high

Like Cleopatra, Joan of Arc, or Aphrodite

“She's So High” - Tal Bachman

I desperately wanted to change the subject to something more interesting. Again, my eyes were drawn to the cabinet.

“Dairsy claims there are wings locked away over there,” I confided. “Did they belong to your sister? And how come I don’t see wings on anyone here?”

Aoife’s eyes went wide with shock at the apparent audacity of my questions. Her face clouded with a touch of anger as she gave our host a withering look. “There are times when Dairsy's tongue sometimes rattles loosely around in his head of its own accord, instead of being still.”

Dairsy made eye-contact with her and simply nodded, as if they were communicating subliminally. When her gaze returned to me, the clouds of anger quickly parted and Aiofe's features radiated sunshine again. She sipped her wine and sat back in her chair. “And you don’t see wings because you either chose not to see them or because you don't truly believe in them, so we choose not to show you.”

“But, I do!” I blurted out before I’d even thought about it. “I do believe, otherwise I would not have followed Dairsy down here!” I told her my story of flying with Kent, what he’d said to me before he died. I noticed that she seemed surprised by the names I mentioned, just as Dairsy and Mumsy had been. When I was through, I asked, “May I see your wings?”

Aoife jumped abruptly, shocked at my apparently audacious request, and looked at me. “My, but you are quite impertinent, much as my beloved sister would have been!” She grinned and then leaned in towards me. “You can see them,” she whispered, “if, and only if, you have the key!”

“Key?”

She nodded.

“Aye. You have to want to see them. You must believe in them!”

“I do!” I said earnestly.

Aoife smiled and I began to hear that ethereal chorus in the background, simply singing notes that started softly, gradually rising in a crescendo, as if we were in a movie and something deified was being revealed. I looked at her in wonder as the air shimmered around her and the chorus began to gently increase the crescendo. I looked harder, but the air just continued to flicker and distort, causing the choir to decrescendo down the musical scale once more.

“Believe,” someone whispered, so I concentrated, believing that she actually had wings.

The harmonic voices slowly rose again, both in pitch and in volume as the shimmering mirage behind Aoife flickered, then solidified and, after a cymbal crash and a long-held “AAAAH!” note, I could see two glittering, translucent appendages slowly come into focus behind her, gleaming with luminescence and sparkling as they refracted the flickering candlelight. They seemed to continue to grow and expand as music that reminded me of Orff's choral “O Fortuna” from Carmina Burana played dramatically in the background, the edges of her wings now flashing and blinking with small explosions of reflected light off the golden veins and polished ivory of the wings as they idly twitched, moved, and expanded. Soon, they were larger than Aoife and curled around the beams, the floor and the walls. They created a radiance around her and made her even more striking than she had been. Whereas before, she'd been simply ethereal, she was now stunningly majestic; imperial!. When the chorus and orchestra hit their final note, my hands went to my mouth in surprise.

Aoife smiled shyly. “You can see them now?”

“Oh, goodness, yes, I can!” I exclaimed softly. “They’re… beautiful!”

“Thank you, Eith… Mary-Anne.”

“Oh, how I wish I could have wings as beautiful as that,” I murmured, completely awestruck. I turned, expecting everyone else to be as speechless as I, but no one else appeared to have heard a thing or be paying attention.

When I turned back, the wings faded from view with a sigh from the choir.

“My… sister…,” continued Aoife, “had beautiful wings as well. They were even more beautiful than these, with gold and silver veins running through them, but with hers as black as these are translucent and white. When they fluttered, they would go from clear to gold to silver as she spread them, then would burst into a gemlight-rainbow flashes of color as she fluttered them, gleaming and sparkling like jewelry in the sunlight,” said Aoife wistfully as the memories welled up inside her. “They were truly magnificent, putting mine to shame. Oh, and the fun we had together! She and I would flitter, swoop, and fly all around the countryside, playing with the dragons and eagles. We would always get into such trouble for being late to sup…”

Aoife caught herself, tucking away her emotion like a handkerchief. “But, melancholy remembrances, and recounts of the past, are not what I am here for!”

“What are you here for?” I asked.

“Why, to welcome our special guest!”

“Oh? Who is that?” I said, looking around.

Aoife laughed, “Why, you, my dear.”

“Me? I’m just a nobody that followed Dairsy down here. You don’t really have parties for everyone that comes down this way, do you?”

She smiled. “Not often, no, but when they come down that particular portal, yes.”

I waited for a further explanation, but when none was forthcoming, I asked, “Tell me more about your sister.”

Aoife sighed, then bent toward me, a mischievous grin on her face as she spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. “She was my older sister, though she always looked younger. She was a free-spirit and, oh, such a rebellious little hellion. And, while her name was Eithne, everyone in our family and all that were close to her or knew her well called her ‘Mimsy.’

“She gave my father, the King, fits because of her attitude. He wanted her to marry a Prince from a smaller kingdom to the North to help settle a minor, though annoying, dispute, but she refused. She said she couldn’t wed anyone that she wasn’t in love with or had never met and, when Father insisted, she rebelled and refused to even be introduced the boy.”

Aoife shook her head and chuckled. “The contradiction was that she was such an incurable romantic, that one! Not the least bit pragmatic or apologetic, much to the consternation of my parents. She seemed to fall in love with every handsome boy she ever ran across, including one older, rugged-looking mundane, who had followed her through one of the more ancient portals. The difference was that she fell hard for this man.

“When father discovered this, he demanded that she end her flirtations with this human. Of course, she refused. When he tried to stop her by force, she became furious and would find ways to escape and run off to be with him, even though she confessed to me that she’d seen an even more handsome and younger man during one of her returns, and was now torn. We hadn't known how ill Father was until he quite suddenly died, which is why he'd been working so hard to prepare this marriage.

“When my sister refused this betrothal, and then my father passed on, my mother fell into a deep depression and stopped eating. Eventually, she succumbed to weakness and starvation. Mother’s passing left Mimsy to govern, but she had not yet come of age, nor had she married, so the duties fell to the Prince Regent, our cousin, Penntague, until my sister reached her 16^th season – or until she married the First-Born Prince of the Fifth House, whom she refused to even consider.”

“Why didn’t it fall to you?”

Aoife laughed. “First of all, because I was three seasons younger than my sister and not yet of marrying age, let alone ruling age. Second, because it goes by succession of first-born among the Senior Ruling Houses. Ours was the most senior because Father was acknowledged as the King among Kings and Mother was our Queen because of their marriage. From there, succession falls to the first-born of the First House, then the First Born of the Second House. I was, or would have been, twenty-seventh in line for succession. I’m now third.”

“Why is that?”

Aoife sighed again, but didn’t answer directly. Instead, she continued her explanation:

“Eithne was Firstborn of the First House, so she was first in line of succession. Penn was first-born in his kingdom, which is of the Second House, so he is second in line of succession, even though he is five seasons older than Eithne.

He is also our first-cousin, the son of our mother’s younger sister, Trillia – who was the third-born of what was then the Third House. She married Carrick, the first-born of the Fifth house because all the other first- and second-born, at the time, were males. The consolidation of those kingdom’s created a new Second House. My paternal cousin, Oissian – the Second-born of the fifth House, married my mother, LeFey, the First-Born of what was then the Sixth House, so that union formed the Third House.”

“Why didn’t the first-borne of the fifth house marry your mother?”

“Because the first-born of that house was my Aunt Cliondha, Ossian’s niece, and she was the same age as my mother. They were the best of friends, though she died in an accident with her betrothed before she reached her twelfth season.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry!”

She smiled. “No need for apologies, I’m merely explaining how it all works, though I admit that it sometimes confuses even me.” She laughed and then continued.

“My mother was First-Born of the Third House and Oissian’s daughter. She married the second-born of the First House, because the first-born of the First House – my uncle Tolliver – passed away before he became of age. He and Cliondha were to be wed and that marriage would have created the First House, but they died together in that accident. Hence, my father, even though he was second-born, was, by default, now the First-Born of the First House upon Tolliver’s death, and was able to marry my mother, because all of the other first-born’s were much older and already married, and no other members of the opposite sex were of age to engage in an arrangement contract, so no other match or consolidations could be reached.”

I scrunched my nose up at this. “Wouldn’t all this consolidation eventually lead to one big house?”

Aoife smiled. “No. All the offspring of a house receive a portion of the lands upon the death of their parents, which fragments the holding and creates new houses, though the firstborns are entitled to a two-thirds-share, which all of them, of course, take, though that changes the house order once more.

“There are times, though, when everyone that offers a step-up in House rank is married, adopted, or of the same sex, or there could be an excess of single male or female children without any chance of partnerships that would be of any political significance.”

“What happens then?”

“In that case, those children are free to marry whom they wish and their properties are no longer a part of the aligned Houses, but become 'Free-Holdings' which are free to choose their own alliances, rather than consolidation with one house or another, though they may also choose to do that. Often, they remain freeholdings or simply consolidate among themselves in an alliance among other freeholders, agreed upon by contract – which sometimes leads to them becoming a ranked, dominant house with eligible children, when their lands or holdings reach a certain formulated size, but that is extremely rare.”

“Many times, a royal pairing produces no offspring because one or both of the couples are too old and the lands are then divided up among the closest related, non-titled children of Royalty and their Gentry husbands – in other words, the Royals who married whomever they wanted. When that happens, their children regain their royal status and you end up with a lot of small kingdoms and minor houses with new First-Borns and new consolidations to be made.

“We have had long periods of many very small duchies and no dominant houses. These duchies weren’t the least bit united and often there were frequent squabbles over territory or lack of defense from the outside threats. When that happens, we must call a council of elders to settle matters and that usually leads to them to forcing alliances so that marriages can be arranged, even though the ones involved are often children being married off to older widows or widowers, but sometimes children become contractually betrothed to other children.

My face scrunched up in bewilderment. “But, what happens if, among the fractured duchies, there are neither, meaning that all the children are of the same sex, or that there are no older widows or widowers, or everyone is the same sex, or the parents or those involved don’t agree to the terms?”

She smiled. “In that case, the council may convene a Grandal.”

“What’s that?”

“A means to elect a King and Queen.”

“How so?”

“They may find several popular royals, or gentrys, even, from among the duchies and hold an election by popular vote. If necessary, there is a primary election to narrow down the field. Otherwise, once a couple wins, the council will then ordain that each duchy gift a piece of their lands to to create a new, single, large house and then the new King and Queen will assess the remaining duchies and rank them to allow for political marriages.”

“Political?”

“Yes. In many cases, when these alliances are forced, both parties elected may be married to others, but the council deems that, should a certain royal male and a certain royal female make a good combination, they grant a ‘dispensation’ and allow them to marry again, in name only, while still retaining their relationship with their initial partners.”

“So, they are allowed to stay with their other spouses?”

“They are allowed to remain married to them, yes, but, as Royals, they must produce at least one offspring between the King and Queen. The consumption must be witnessed and the woman may not have sex with her initial husband until it is confirmed she is with child.”

I laughed. “And, just how do they verify that?”

“The arranged couple must live with each other for one full season out of three and have no other lovers during that one season – not even their initial spouse. There are often ‘observers’ and chaperons ensuring that the child is created from that particular union.”

“What if they don’t like each other?”

“Then the Council will resort to artificial insemination.”

“Oh.”

I thought about it and tried to piece it all together and found I was getting a headache, so I changed the subject.

“Oh. So, was your sister supposed to marry Penn?”

Aoife laughed. “No. He would have had to marry a First- or Second-born from, at least, the Fourth House to supersede her. My father’s sister, Giulia, was Third-Born of the First house and married a First-Born of the Seventh House to form the Fourth House. She had three boys, so no females were eligible there for Penn. As far as Penn and Eithne – or anyone else in our household – he was too close a relation to marry either of us.”

“Huh?”

She smiled. “Seems confusing, doesn’t it?”

“Well, yeah!”

“It’s quite simple. Penn’s Mother, my aunt, ‘married down’ to help her husband’s House status while my mother ‘married up’ to improve her House status.”

“You mean Penn’s mother married beneath her station?”

“Oh goodness no! She married a first-born! If she’d married a second-born of anyone other than the First House, then she would have married below herself, giving up her title of ‘princess’. It would never do. But, my Aunt, meaning Penn’s mother, who was a second born, by joining in marriage her portion of the then Third-House with that of the First-Born of what was then the Fourth-House, united those kingdoms to form a new Second-House, moving the others down.”

I shook my head. “It sounds too much like corporate mergers, but with the twist of CEO’s getting married.”

“Corpor… what?”

“Nothing. Continue please!”

“So I shall. Prince Ennikent of the Cullynae was first-born in what is now the Fifth-House, and became third in line behind my sister and Penn, as he was ten minutes older than his twin sister, and he was the one Eithne was to marry and would have insured that we remained as the First House. The Princess, Dofikla of the Cullynae was to marry Penn to secure the status of the Second House remaining so, because all the other first-borns of any other house were males. She was the first female among the second-born, and that union would have solidified a pact and strengthened the lines of succession. With Eithne marrying the first-born of the Fifth House and a first-born of a Second House marrying a second-born of a Fifth House family (but the first first-born female of any of the houses) it would have united three of the wealthiest individual kingdoms into a strong union because it would have folded the Fifth-House into the First and Second.”

My head swam as I tried to sort it all out. I actually took my notepad and began to make a flow chart to try and make sense of it, but gave up. My look gave me away, so Aoife took it from me and drew out the chart. I looked at it and frowned, then went “oh!” and got it. Aoife smiled and continued.

“It would have been a perfect match. But Eithne was a headstrong female and so was Princess Dofikla. Both refused to budge from their positions of wanting to marry for love, rather than out of political expedience.

“Penn, it was rumored, was smitten by the Princess of Cullyn because she was an extraordinarily gifted woman – and, it was said, perhaps the most beautiful woman in all the land – but she was inseparable from her twin brother. At the celebration, she took one look at Penn during the Maypole dance, dropped her tassel, and spurned him on the spot. Eithne, infatuated with the mortal she'd recently met, refused outright to go to the celebration at all and never met Prince Cullyn. Instead, she ran off in secret that night, initiating a rendezvous with her mundane lover.

“When both Princesses refused their arranged marriages, it caused tremendous political tensions and a crisis of succession. What made it worse was that Eithne didn’t really wish to be Queen either, but none of us wished for it to fall to Penn because... well, because we noticed he had certain personality tendencies. Had Eithne married Prince Cullyn, it would not have mattered whether she wanted to rule or not as he would have become King and could simply have taken over those obligations. It would have meant, however, that his House would have risen to a primary position of prestige if she refused her duties.

“This caused much agonizing for my father, the King, as well as for Penn. Due to Penn’s ego, he took umbrage with the King and Prince of the Cullynae, blaming them for Princess Dofikla’s reticent disinclination. When Penn became regent, he raised an army to attack them. Eithne, who was still here with us, used her influence to put a stop to it before she left for good by issuing a stay through her allies in the council, but it was a temporary measure that he has, as of late, chosen to ignore.”

“Why is that?”

“Because, per the negotiated wording of that stay, if my sister is gone for more than 20 of our seasons, she will have legally abdicated her position and Penn will become King. Given that she’s been gone for almost 19 now, Penn has become impatient and so entrenched in his power, he’s decided not to wait another season and declared that she is not coming back. Unless my sister returns soon and marries Prince Cullyn…”

Aoife let the thought drift off.

“What do you think happened to your sister?”

“I believe that the mundane she was seeing lured her off to the human world and she went after him, leaving her wings behind, and became… lost. Dairsy says that the spell he put around her and her wings should keep her going for at least another season, but I see the worry in his eye. Magic – especially protection spells – can become imprecise over extended periods of time.”

“Oh. Was this mundane another Prince?” I asked, sounding like an enthralled little girl listening to a fairy tale.

“Unfortunately, no,” sighed Aoife. “We never saw him and she kept him well-hidden. Our belief was that he was but a simple human. Eithne would wander through one of the more ancient portals because she said it led to a fascinating world. She would then wander around in that world as a changeling. She was enthralled with the life there, though any normal fae would wonder why anyone would wish to cut off their wings to live in it. Apparently, she found out why when she met her lover.

“She began going through that portal before she met the mundane, and would come back from her adventures and tell me about its beauty, but it sounded far too primitive for my tastes. She had been out through the portal one day and this mundane ended up following her – as prey to her changeling shape – and became enthralled with her when she changed back into her fae form. In the end, he stole her heart.

“They would often meet at the entrance to the portal. Since then, that portal has collapsed and shifted, collapsed again and shifted to its final form and place, but only a few know of it and it was Dairsy that laid the spell to protect it and keep it from collapsing again. But that is of minor importance. What is worrisome is when my sister left she did the unthinkable; she shed her wings as well.”

“She cut them off?”

Aoife looked at me and smiled sadly. “No, but not for want of trying. She simply wanted to spend some time as a mundane with the one she loved, but didn't want to give up on being a fae forever. She said she intended to come back because she didn’t quite trust Penn. Dairsy was her mentor and like a grandfather to her. She would spend a lot of time here at this cabin with him and Mumsy, learning things from him and reading Dairsy's book. She’d read about others shedding their wings so, of course, she came to Dairsy to learn how to shed them in a manner that would allow her to regain them when she decided to return.

“Dairsy assisted her reluctantly and has regretted it ever since. Once she was rid of them, she ran off, leaving the kingdoms in such turmoil that it led to several unpopular skirmishes between the First, Second, and Fifth houses, as well as the adjoining fiefdoms. Lands have been confiscated under very shaky pretenses and tensions are running high. Many of us royals have suffered from 'premature expiration' these past 19 seasons.”

“Premature expiration?”

“Death under questionable context. Certain royals who… might have been a little… critical… of the current administration… seem to have ‘passed-on’ under rather suspect circumstances. They were all explained away as ‘terribly tragic, yet coincidental, accidents’ in a very logical-but-chary-manner by our Regent.”

“That’s horrible! He investigated, of course?”

Aoife snorted. “He appeared to investigate, but no one yet has been caught so, many of us high-ranking royals – and more than a few like Dairsy – have made it our task to become more publicly visible and mix among the masses more often. It used to be that Royals would stay in their castles or on their estates with only a few select friends around them. That was when we would question quietly between each other about Penn's ability to rule. When disagreements arose during those discussions, word would ‘leak out.’ Many of those Royals who were critical of Penn soon had tragedy befall them – and without witnesses to their demise as they all seemed to happen ‘in the privacy of their keeps.’ Meaning, they would mysteriously trip and fall down a flight of stairs, or one of the stones, or a beam in the ceiling, would give away and fall on them while they slept.

“With all the deaths, we Royals have become far more visible within our Kingdoms, keeping dozens of trusted friends and retainers around us at all hours of the day, especially after it became known that some were again raising questions about our Regent. One positive effect has been that our popularity has soared, making it increasingly difficult for these ‘accidents’ to occur. He – or whomever does this to us – dares not do it again for fear of an uprising.”

“This Penn doesn’t sound like a very nice man.”

Aoife sighed and stared into space for a very long time before saying, “He was once a wonderful and enchanting young lad.”

“Why, you sound positively wistful when you say that! It's almost as if you... wait..., did you… were you two…?”

“…in love? Yes. Once, when we were both very young, foolish and idealistic; a long, long time ago.”

“Then why didn’t you marry him?”

“Because, there was no political gain in it for him or his family. I was also his first-cousin and thereby too close to be allowed to marry. I was a third-born as well, but the brother that was between Eithne and I passed away mysteriously before he became of age. Had he lived and married someone from the third, fourth, or fifth house, he would have displaced Penn in the ranking by becoming second-in-line behind Eithne. So, even if I was of the First House, my being married, even while rising to Second-Born would have done nothing for him because we were already related and it would not have been agreed upon by the council, even to unite our houses. Only the marriages of Eithne and Dofilka to Ennikent and Penntague could have done that.

“Penn’s family needed him to marry a second-born of at least the Sixth-House but only the Fifth and Seventh house had females who were first or second born, and the one from the Seventh was only four seasons old. First-born females from other, lower houses were available, but the political gain was too small to have been of any good other than to settle a dispute. His brothers were to be used for that. Emotionally, physically and mentally, Penn and I made a good match, but we were forced to part and I was to enter into my arranged marriage and solidify the union with another kingdom to the West.”

“That’s no reason to get married!”

Aoife laughed. “That is so delightfully naïve of you! Of course it is a reason to marry! People of status and wealth do it all the time, whether it be for appearance, or for financial gain, additional status, or something else. Very few people ever marry out of love – except maybe among the lesser classes.”

“Well,” I huffed, “I think one should marry out of love first.”

“Love comes with time,” said Aoife sadly.

“So, who did you marry?”

“A delightfully boring, older, and lovely man; the Earl of Tighe. He was First Born of the Seventh House and Ninth in line of succession but, like my poor brother, he’d always been somewhat sickly, even when he was a child.”

“Did you ever fall in love with him?”

“Eventually, yes. Though it took me many seasons to appreciate him.”

“What happened to change your mind?”

“I learned to not take him at face value and eventually saw that he was a perfectly good life-companion. He was witty, educated, interesting, charming and always very thoughtful. And a most attentive lover!”

“Why didn’t you like him at first?”

She laughed. “He was as thin as a twig and ugly as sin.”

I laughed with her before asking, “What happened to him?”

She gave me a sad look. “He died a year and a day after our first and only son was born. That was nine seasons back.”

“Oh, Aoife, I’m so sorry.”

She smiled sadly. “Don’t be. As I said, I’ve cried enough tears for us both.” She was silent for a few more minutes before continuing.

“When my sister, Mimsy left, Penn was free to wage an open, yet secret, war against the Northern Kingdom, which is the Third House, and against the Fifth House in the West. He slaughtered many of their peoples as well as most of the Cullynae Royal Family. Only a handful of that royals there survived and are now in exile. Among them are believed to be the Prince and Princess, though there are other rumors...”

When she didn’t elaborate, I asked, “What did the other kingdoms do?”

“Nothing overt. Many were afraid of Penn but, after he did this, they felt he went too far. All stood up to him and refused to render any support, cutting the funding for any future conquests. As long as any of the Cullynae family exist – and it is also an open secret that all of the lesser houses succor the survivors – he cannot annex their house into his to become the First House. That is probably why so many Royals have come to experience an unfortunate and early demise as of late. He is trying to find the remaining Cullynae and exterminate them.”

“That’s horrible! This Mimsy should be punished for leaving her responsibilities and turning over rule to that monster!”

Aoife looked sad. “In many ways, she may have been punished far more severely than she thinks, for the longer the wings are left off, the less she remembers about herself until she forgets entirely. The magic in the wings has a direct link to the brain and the heart. After 20 of our seasons, the protection spell will fade, her memories will be gone completely and the wings wither and die – as will the one who shed them.”

“That’s so… terrible! Oh, how I wish I could help!”

Aoife smiled and patted my hand. “I’m sure you would if you could, my dear.”

There was one gent that hovered near the conversation between Aoife and Mary. He stood far enough away to appear that he was not listening, but his ears were larger-than-normal and his hearing was exceptional. He ignored the conversation of the group he stood among and concentrated on what the two women were saying. His lips curled up into a faint smile.

She remembers nothing!

He made his plans. Very early the next morning, he would creep out of the abode among the snoring, drunken revelers and make his way back to the castle where he could provide a report to the Prince Regent. Penn would be pleased, even if he might still worry that the girl might be the one Dairsy believes her to be and would attempt to don the wings. The spy mulled his next action when a pretty-young-thing came up and took his arm.

TIME SHIFTING CIGARETTES

“Smoke smoke smoke that cigarette!
Puff puff puff on it,
And if you smoke yourself to death;
Tell St Peter at the Pearly Gate
That you really hate to make him wait
But you just gotta have another cigarette!”

“Smoke Smoke Smoke That Cigarette!” - Merle Travis & Tex Williams

I had a fitful sleep and awoke the next morning a little disoriented and confused. I sat up, blinking several times before the memories of the previous evening came back. It was then that I noticed the snores coming from the other room and heard someone up and about. Thinking it might be Mumsy, I got up, put on something decent, and decided to help her out.

I walked out to a sea of blanket-and-quilt-covered bodies strewn across the floor, all of them snoring loudly. Mumsy was nowhere in sight, and when I looked out the windows, the entire house was enshrouded in a dense fog, so I worked my way over to the stove, rekindled the fire, and began to heat water for tea. Muttering to myself as I worked, I wished for a cup of donut-shop coffee instead.

I managed to get the kindling lit and put in a couple sticks of wood then filled the pot with water. Once the fire inside the stove began to crackle, I shivered a little, partially from the damp cold of the morning, but also because my dreams had really bothered me.

I looked out over the main room and saw that the outside door to the garden had not latched. Curious, I opened it and, in the early morning light, thought I saw the shadow of a figure disappearing into the mists. Just like the first day, though, I had trouble focusing on anything that wasn’t more than a few feet in front of me, but I could swear that I saw footprints on the dewy flagstones of the path. Those faded away quickly, though and I began to experience a touch of vertigo. Returning inside, I took in all the revelers from the previous evening, wondering how they all managed to fit into such a tiny room. Aoife slept in Mumsy and Dairsy’s bed, of course, while those two slept upon a rug on the floor of their room. I hugged myself and shivered, deciding to rekindle the fire in the hearth as well.

Delicately tip-toeing over the sleeping guests, I made my way to the fireplace and stirred the ashes until I found some coals. When I did that, I discovered my discarded pack of cigarettes. They’d miraculously been untouched and I had a sudden urge for a smoke, so I abandoned my efforts and threaded my way to the door I’d first come in – the one hidden behind the curtain and leading to the stairs.

It was a long climb upwards, but it gave me time to think. The dreams I’d had since I’d been here had been odd ones, filled with memories of flying and of being… of being… something important. Someone important. I tapped my lighter against my cigs as I trudged up the stairs. My dreams had been strangely surreal and I couldn’t quite put a finger on why, so I dismissed it as ideas put into my head by the stories of Aoife, Mumsy, and Dairsy.

Still, they had me wondering as I climbed. In fact, I was so engrossed in my thoughts that it felt as if I’d been climbing for what seemed like an hour. When I looked up, I was on the last few steps and once more looking at the ladder that led up the tower. I didn’t even consider that I should be huffing and puffing from that long climb and just clambered up the ladder until I could push aside the hatch at the top.

It was close to sunset but, because of the darkness of the stairwell, I had to blink several times before I climbed out and sat in my usual spot. I lit up the cancer stick and looked out over the water as the city began to twinkle and glow when lights gradually came on. It was then that I realized that the cityscape was no longer ‘beautiful’ but, instead, displayed a terrifying splendor, obscene in its magnificent ode to venture capitalism. Nothing about it blended in with the natural landscape and all of it was calculated to call attention to those that designed, built, worked or lived in it… and owned it. It stunned me to realize that the buildings of the city were there for one purpose: To satisfy an ego.

Given that, it was still beautiful – for this world.

I smoked four cigarettes up there while watching the sunset, but tasted none of them. They no longer gave me the same satisfaction as they had just a few short days ago. I tossed my last butt and reasoned that I’d actually smoked them more to rebel against ‘the fosters’ than for the enjoyment anyway. It was another statement from this world: Here, you did things injurious to your health to rebel.

Now, why did I think that? ‘This world?’ Isn’t this my world?

That shook me a great deal. Was I saying that this wasn’t my world? I could feel my face scrunch up in puzzlement. Now that I thought about it, I’d never really felt as if I were at home anywhere when I was here, even when… even when… even when what?

Even when I was with Kent?

I got angry and spit because I wasn’t feeling the peace here that I’d come to expect. Why was that? Why was I having a longing for the place I’d just left? Why was I having dreams of flying – or, more importantly – of being someone different; someone significant? And why were faces of different men flashing in front of my eyes and slowly melting together into one of two faces; that of Kent and someone I remembered as being called Nydd? And why did I feel so comfortable and ‘at home’ down in Dairsy’s and Mumsy’s cottage while feeling more disquiet here?

I shook my head and wondered aloud why I’d let any of this happen at all and I screamed incoherently with rage while shaking my fist in the air.

Out of breath and my chest heaving, I finally took note of the city profile. In shock, I lowered my hands and gaped at it with an open mouth. The cityscape had subtly changed. While everything seemed familiar, there were things out-of-place. I stared harder and realized, the skyline had altered.

Where had that dome come from? What were those three new buildings? What were those things flying around above the city, looking like gnats hovering over a grassy field? A few came closer and I saw that they were… what? Model planes? No, they were too big. A few flew by closer to me and I saw that they had markings on their side. I recognized familiar names of a few commercial companies and wished that I had something to throw at them, but instead, I gave one the finger. It was then that I noticed it had “Police” written on the side. It turned swiftly and began to head directly for me.

I squeaked and went wide-eyed when I realized it was much bigger than I expected. It also had what looked like two gun barrels swiveling toward me, so I quickly slipped back through the access hole and closed it behind me just as I heard it buzz over where I’d just been. I hurried down the ladder and pushed against the access door, only to find it locked. What the…? Surely it couldn’t have been…? How long had I been down at the cottage? Two days? Three? Could someone have possibly found it open and relocked it that quickly? I mean, I would sometimes come in-and-out of here for weeks without the door being relocked. And, out there, it was as if years had passed, or even a decade or two! How did that occur?

I flicked on the lighter so I could see and found two loose cigarettes on the floor. I stared at them, disgusted, before letting my addiction overcome my squeamishness and picked them up. I put one in my mouth to smoke while contemplating all this. As I lit it, the lighter died, so I threw it, listening in the darkness as it clattered noisily in the enclosed space. Right about then I heard the distinct sound of brakes squealing as something large and heavy came to a stop right outside, followed by the low thrum of a diesel engine. In the distance, a police siren howled and it was quickly getting closer.

I began to panic, my breathing becoming rapid and shallow as I tried to remember if the passageway was across from the ladder or off to one side. Slapping at the wall desperately with my hands, I blindly searched for the opening. As I did, the male voices grew louder and I heard the diesel engine gun and the sound of hydraulics. They were lowering someone in a bucket over to the access door!

My search became more frantic and I could feel my eyes begin to well up with tears. Suddenly, I didn’t want to be here. I slapped at the block walls frantically, trying to find the opening so that I could run down the stairwell, but I ended up touching nothing but stone and metal. It wasn’t there! But it had to be there! I’d just come up from it!

“You have to believe!”

“What?” I mentally shouted.

“You have to believe!” I heard a faint voice say once more.

“Believe?” I responded. “Yes! That’s it! Believe, Mary-Anne!” I told myself. “Believe!” I closed my eyes.

“I believe,” I chanted. I believe! I believe! I be…

There was a metallic rasping and the voices of men just outside the access door. I could hear the jingling of keys as they were used on the lock.

“I believe! I believe! I believe!” I mumbled, trying not to cry as I felt for the opening. Just as the lock snapped undone, the access door sprung back a fraction, allowing a sliver of light to reveal the stairwell, two feet from where I stood. I quickly stepped down them, going just far enough so that they wouldn’t see me, but I could still peek around and observe.

“Where’d she go?” said one of the men as they walked in. A cop turned on his flashlight and began shining the beam up the ladder of the tower.

“Hell if I know,” said the cop, turning her beam to play along the floor. “But someone’s been here. I smell cigarettes. Look, there’s a butt, one un-smoked, and a broken lighter over there…”

I waited for the female cop to turn the flashlight toward the stairwell in front of her, but she never did. If they found it, would they come down the stairwell? I ran down several more steps and listened to the conversation between the police and bridge-workers searching for “the girl on the camera.”

“How’d she get in if it was locked?”

“Hell if I know, sergeant. Other than the smell of cigarette smoke, there’s no sign of her being here at all.”

I waited for them to start down the stairwell, prepared to rush toward the protection of Mumsy and Dairsy.

“She’s not up-top,” called a voice.

“Let’s hope she didn’t fall!” said another.

Then I heard the cop comment, “If she did, we’ll find the body eventually. Sad really. From the picture, she looked kinda cute.”

I waited, wondering why their attention hadn’t drawn them down the staircase. The light that shone on the stones made it obvious that it was there – at least to me. But—

They don’t believe!

Of course! This was a magic stairwell! If you didn’t believe, you wouldn’t see it!

I chuckled evilly and was half tempted to walk out and laugh at them; taunt them and then run back down. I began to do just that, but then thought, if I did so, they might believe that it existed and would come after me. Or worse, the passage might close up behind me and I’d get arrested. I held back and waited until they left.

After a few more minutes, I heard them exit, one-by-one. The door closed, followed by the metallic rasp of the lock being put back into place and then the whine of hydraulics and the roar of the diesel engine. The voices faded, but I remained where I was for 20 minutes before heading back up. They’d left the hatch at the top open, and there was enough light to see that no one remained. I gingerly climbed up the ladder to the top and peeked out.

About 20 drones were hovering about 50 yards away from the top of the tower. Each of them had logos of different news services on their bodies. Lenses protruded from several different spots as they took pictures of the hatch. Two police drones circled around, keeping them back and from crashing into each other. I popped up, gave them the finger and stuck my tongue out. Once more, one of the cop drones turned toward me.

I quickly climbed back down and sighed sadly as I sat on the step. This had once been my favorite spot on this world...

“…on this world…?” What other world was there?

I began to cry as I slowly clumped down the stairs, thinking hard and wondering why I was so drawn to a place where I’d be too tall and would constantly stand out. Wiping my nose on my sleeve and sniffling, I debated this as I walked…

…and walked…

…and walked…

…and walked…

With a start, I realized that my legs were sore from fatigue. Surely it hadn’t taken me this long before when I’d followed Mumsy and Dairsy, had it?

I felt at the walls and found they were still wet and slimy. Puzzled, I sat down and ruminated for a moment. Of course, it was so dark, I couldn’t see. I heard nothing other than my breathing as it echoed off the passageway and I could smell the stale water of the bay where it permeated the blocks. I was tired, thirsty and worried. My mind told me I’d gone down further than I had before and that unsettled me. Could I possibly have missed the landing? What if I’d gone right by it and…?

No, the walls were still damp and they had been dry at some point before arriving at their cottage. The stairs had ended at the landing, hadn’t they? I put my head in my hands, resting my elbows on my knees and began to cry again. I thought I remembered stumbling at the landing and not finding any further stairs. But I’d not even climbed this far… or had I?

“NO!” I declared. “The stairs ended at the landing… at Mumsy’s and Dairsy’s door!”

I got up and began to walk again. About thirty steps later, I felt that strange electrical tingle, making my skin get all goose-pimply. As I passed the barrier, the air changed, going from damp-and-musty to dry-and-clean and I felt elated.

I’m almost there! I thought to myself as I ran even faster.

I was flying down the stairs now, dragging my fingertips along the rough, dry wall as I continued my descent. I was going so fast that I stumbled on the landing and fell, rolling into a ball and slamming against the closed door.

Bruised but laughing, I groaned as I got up, brushed off my knees and sighed at the feeling of torn tights. I felt around for the entrance to the cottage and finally located the handle, giving it a push.

It wouldn’t budge.

I pushed harder, but the door wouldn’t open.

“Dummy! It opens outward!”

I pulled. It still didn’t open.

“Damn it!”

I braced myself with one foot against the wall and pulled again.

Nothing.

I tried pulling once more, but it was frozen solid in place so I beat on it with my fist, calling out to Mumsy and Dairsy to open up…. Anyone, open up.

But the door wouldn’t budge.

I leaned against the wood and called out, crying, until I was hoarse before sinking to the floor and sobbing even harder. I was hungry, tired and sore. I wanted to flop down on Gurfell in exhaustion, to eat some of Mumsy’s meat-pies, along with tea and cakes. I wanted to ask more questions of Dairsy and Aoife.

I wanted to look at the wings!

But now, I was locked between two worlds; in limbo.

Devastation Revelation

“Wipe away the whole bloodline

To hunt down the seed

Exterminate the family

Make the landowner bleed

No right to inhabit

To build their promised land”

“The Great Revelation” - Wreck (A Finnish Death Metal Band), “Total Devastation” Album (2006)

-

I must have fallen asleep in my exhaustion because I awoke to a cool breeze and the door bumping against my butt, then closing, then bumping against me again.

“Hello?” I called, opening the door. “Mumsy? Dairsy? Aoife?”

I put my head around the door and gasped. What greeted me was... a mess.

Plates were broken into shards. Books, knick-knacks, clothing and furniture were tossed hither and yon, blankets and quilts, shredded. Almost every cabinet was opened and some of the doors were hanging on one hinge. Only one cabinet remained as it was; the one with Mimsy’s wings… Eithne’s wings.

“Oh, my God, what happened?” I cried, restoring the furnishings upright. I easily got Uula and Gurfell turned over, but Thannalome was heavier than he (?) looked and groaned as I slowly rolled him… her… it… onto his ‘feet’ and brushed him off.

“Oh, my stuffing,” it creaked, enlarging itself to accommodate me. I sat upon him, panting as I picked up a round of cheese still wrapped in leaves and then found knife.

“Thannalome, what happened?”

“King’s soldiers appeared. Arrested everyone here.”

“Arrested? Why?”

“Be-cause they-are not-his friends,” croaked Uula, Dairsy’s rocker as it moved.

“Not his friends? Who’s friends?”

Thannalome did something to massage my sore back as he spoke. “Penn’s. Dairsy is… among the opposition to Penn taking the crown so soon – if at all. Eithne has little-more-than-a-season to return, but the prince-regent has grown impatient and usurped the throne for himself. He fancies himself King now.”

“Well, where is this Ainie?”

Uula’s armrests shrugged. “She-has not-come back-to claim-her wings. Once-she does, most-of-the Roy-als-will turn-a-gainst him.”

“Most? Not all?”

“No, not all,” rumbled Gurfell. “Some royals have been bought off by Penn. Many of the smaller kingdoms are simple democratic monarchies and don’t really have royals, but citizens that run things. But they have aspirations. Most people in the larger kingdoms simply want to get on with their lives. Others will blindly follow the power.”

“I see. How come they didn’t take the wings?”

“No-one had-the key.”

“Why didn’t they just break into it?”

“Ma-gic ca-bin-et. Ma-gic lock-on ca-bin-net. Ma-gic spell on ca-bin-et. Can-not see it.”

“How do you get into it?”

“You-have to-have the-key,” said Uula.

“Where is this key?”

“The key,” said Thannalome, “is in the heart of Eithne.”

“Heart?”

I thought about it before it dawned on me and I began to pace and talk to no one in particular.

“You know, everyone was saying how much I resembled this Ainie at the party. Maybe… just maybe if I were to believe I am her and try to open the cabinet…”

I waited in silence for several moments. Since no one, or nothing, discouraged this line of thinking, I walked over to the wall, chanting to myself:

Believe! Believe! Believe!

I reached up and opened the doors with ease, but jumped back as a wrapped box jumped out at me, bouncing around the room. I grabbed it and untied the string that bound it, then tore the paper wrapping away.

I shrieked as the top popped open and blackwings flew out, about the size of a large bird, flapping around madly and diving at me several times until they stopped to rest upon a high shelf and just flapped a time or two, like a butterfly might. I clambered after it, but couldn’t reach them.

“Thann, would you please come over here so I can stand on you!”

The long hassock waddled over to me and groaned when I stepped onto it. The wings were just out of my reach and would skitter backwards each time I lunged at them. I tried once more and they flew off again. I chased, but was unable to catch them as they flitted about the room.

“I need a net,” I cried, but didn’t see anything I could use.

“Use your shirt,” suggested Thanalome.

“I don’t have a bra on!” I cried.

“Who-is going-to see?” chided Uula

Realizing no one would see, I took off my shirt and tried to use it to capture my prey. The wings were quite small and very richly black. I tripped over Thann just as I’d about caught them and fell onto my face with an “Oomph!” When I did, the wings landed on my back…

…and viciously tore into the flesh there as if they were biting me. I let out a loud, piercing, painful scream just before passing out.

I awoke, thirsty and weak, as I agonizingly crawled over to the larder to see if there was anything to drink. I heard noises behind me and turned, shocked at first and then began laughing. I never knew furniture could smile.

“She’s back! She’s back! Eithne is back!” all the pieces whispered to each other.

“Help,” I gasped, closing my eyes and wincing from the pain.

“Oh dear, she needs water!” cried Thanmalome. “Everyone gather round and lift her onto me.”

The various pieces of furniture struggled, but it was Uula and Gurfell that finally maneuvered me onto Thanmalome. It was a very long and agonizing struggle to carry me out to the brook that ran alongside the house. I fell off the hassock twice and passed out from the searing pain. The third time, I awoke to find my hand touching something cool, and with an insistent motion flowing over my fingers. With great, slow effort, I gradually turned my head to stare at the edge of the stream.

Groaning, I surged forward and drank – thirstily and excessively – throwing up once before my forehead splashed into the water while I breathed hard from the pain. Reluctance to move fought with my thirst and eventually thirst won out. I pulled myself into the water and drank more before reversing and painfully crawling along the rocky, sandy bottom until I came to the deeper pond by the falls. Once there, I turned onto my back and rested my head upon a rock that laid just below the surface, letting the cool water soothe my aching neck and shoulders. As the pain subsided a bit, I crawled over to a stone along the bank of the stream and rolled onto my stomach, letting my head hang down so that my scalp could rest and cool in the water. There, I fell into a dreamless sleep.

When I awoke, I wiggled several times, feeling something itching in the middle of my back. Unable to stand it anymore, I grabbed a nearby stick and used it to scratch as I bent over the edge to look at my reflection and…

…gasped.

In my reflection, I saw myself, of course. But, when I bent down, I could see… I saw…

HOLY CRAP! I had wings!

***

“You must rest,” said Thanmalome after assisting me back into the cottage. “Let them heal properly and fuse with you thoroughly. You’ve been gone a long time, Princess.”

“I’m not a princess, I’m Mary-Anne.”

“You-are Prin-cess Eith-ne,” stated Uula.

“Why do you keep calling me that?” I asked.

“You opened the cabinet. They attached. You are Eithne!” rumbled Gurfell

“No, I’m Mary-Anne, a plain-jane girl from another world. I just wanted to see them.”

“You are Eithne,” insisted Thanmalome. “You reclaimed the wings – or, rather, they reclaimed you!”

“No, I -,”

“Not all the memories have yet returned,” Thannalome sagely observed to the others. “Be quiet. Let her rest. The shock has been great. She will need it to recover.”

I slept upon Thannalome and admit I’d had some very strange dreams for the next several nights. I was still far too weak to do more than walk a few steps before flopping back down, but eventually I was able to clean up the cottage as best I could. When Mumsy returned, she is going to be heartbroken to see that all her fine dishes broken, cracked and scattered. I pieced them together as best I could on the counter and thought I remembered how to fix them but, just as soon as the thought would come, it would escape me. When I tried harder to remember, I’d get dizzy and then fall asleep again.

On the sixth day, I finally found Dairsy’s extra larder, a hatchway hidden beneath a sack of potatoes. In it, I found some jerked meats and dried fruit and slowly ate while I did some thinking.

“I see you found your way back,” said a tired voice from the corner, making me jump. Gone was the ethereal chorus enhancing her voice.

“Aoife Beitha! What…? Why…?”

“Dairsy hid me down here. We’d just got word of their approach in time. I’m afraid they were quite nasty when they arrived.”

“They? Who are ‘they’?”

“The Royal Guard.”

“You mean, Penn’s soldiers? Did they…? I mean… are Mumsy and Dairsy…?”

“Arrested? Yes. Penn wouldn’t dare hurt either of them, but I cannot vouch for the welfare of some of the other guests.”

“But, why did he hide you? And what happened to your voice?”

Aoife blushed. “I’m afraid my ‘voice’ from before is an affectation I use in formal occasions. Dairsy hid me because… it seems I’m now second in line for succession behind the Regent. Prince Cullyn has… disappeared… because he refused to acknowledge Penn as anything more than Regent. It is my belief that Penn wants us all eliminated. To prevent that, Dairsy put me here. He knows some very powerful spells that are rather undetectable. He’s a master sorcerer, that one. One of the last to know the old ways.”

She looked at me.

“Young lady, why are you in such a state of undress?”

“I…” I blushed heavily and turned to show her.

“What?” she asked, frowning.

I closed my eyes and recited quietly, over and over, “Believe!”

Aoife gasped, her hand going to her mouth.

“You…? They…?”

“Yes, a few days ago. When I opened the cabinet, they attacked me, so I tried to capture them with my shirt and…”

I didn’t get to finish because Aoife leapt into my arms with a cry and hugged me tightly.

“Mimsy, Mimsy, Mimsy! Oh, how I’ve missed you so!”

“Aoife, I’m Mary, not… Mimsy…” Or was I? I was so very bewildered now. Inside, my mind was in chaos; I didn’t know who or what I was! If I was Mary-Anne, why didn’t I feel ‘at home’ in my old world and why did I feel at home here? I couldn’t seem to identify with this Eithne, either, or being the sister of Aoife, but I no longer felt as if I were Mary-Ann McLaughlin. I found I was babbling all this and, speaking of Aoife, she was crying profusely and not listening to a word I said.

After a time, she calmed down and we discussed things. I told her of my ordeal and confusion when I went up to the tower, then returned and how I opened Eithne’s cabinet. Aoife told me the history of her and her sister and I began to picture it all in my mind, but it was as if I’d stepped away and was watching from afar or on a movie screen rather than having experienced it first-hand.

“So, how do you get them to grow?”

She looked at me sadly. “You need to give them time to re-adapt and heal. Once they do, you’ll feel their power and your memories will gradually return… if you allow them.”

“But Mumsy and Dairsy…”

“…will be fine. Penn will do nothing to harm them.” Until he can lure you out and kill you she thought, but kept the words under her tongue.

“So, what do I do to help them heal? And why did they attach themselves to me?”

Aoife smiled apologetically. “Unless you really are my sister, I’m not sure.”

BETRAYAL

And I’m here, to remind you

Of the mess you left when you went away

It’s not fair, to deny me

Of the cross I bear that you gave to me

You, you, you, oughta know…

“You Oughtta Know” - Alanis Morrissette

Penntague McBaighleigh, Prince-Regent and now self-proclaimed new “King of the Seelie Court,” paced nervously in his quarters. Why had she waited this long to come back? Why now? Had she really forgotten who she was or had his spy been mistaken? Or, possibly, did the McGooghan’s have something to do with either encouraging her return or recruiting a look-alike? What had those meddlers told her?

“S-s-s-sire,” hissed a voice from a dark corner, “s-s-s-she cannot be allowed to live, regardless-s-s of her authenticity. If word gets out – even if s-s-s-she is not the Princess-s-s…, if word gets-s-s out – they will again have hope and you will not realize the reintegration of the Uns-s-sseelie with the s-s-s-Seelie…”

“I KNOW that, damn you, Kooth!” cried the Prince, throwing a gilted-stone paperweight at the point in the shadows where the voice originated. It clattered against the wall and a portion of the darkness moved causing the rest of the furniture on that side of the room to scuttle further away from its presence. The Prince-Regent frowned. “I thought you said all the portals to the human-world were either inconvenient or being watched!”

“They are, your eminence – all the known portals.”

“Well then, how in the name of brown-stained shamrocks did she get in unnoticed?”

“That I am not s-s-s-sure, though there have been recent reports-s-s of a girl at the top of one of the most inconvenient portals that we thought had long-since collapsed. We have not been able to find…”

“Double the guard on all of them.”

“S-S-Sire, virtually all the portals have collapsed since her return. The one or two that remain have been… our scouts have been unable to reenter s-s-since then.”

“How did she use it, then?”

“We are not s-s-sure if it was her. The human sighting is blurry and we detect no magic having been used.”

Penn sat at his desk, clearly agitated.

“It is not right to have a Seelie and Unseelie Court separated. The annual battle between darkness and light need not continue. We are all brothers and sisters of the New Dawn…”

“I agree, your eminence.”

“How do negotiations go with Balduran?”

“He is amenable to most of the points, but has objections or revisions to a few.”

“Line of succession…?”

“…Is-s-s one of them.”

“Of course.”

“And the duties-s-s of co-King are obviously another.”

“I will not give him control over the armies,” said Penn with finality. “That is to be a joint decision.”

Until you have your own unfortunate accident, thought Kooth, his jagged-toothed grin going unnoticed in the shadows.

Penn picked up a quill and stabbed it into the inkwell.

“I will sign her death warrant, but only as the human she is purported to be. Put your best assassins on it. With her size, she should not be difficult to find.”

Kooth smiled. “As-s-s you wish, your eminence.”

“KOOTH!”

“Yes-s-s, your eminence?”

“ONLY if she is still human, understand? If she demonstrates any Fae quality. If she shows any sign of remembering… She is to be brought here. Alive.”

Pentague continued writing that into the order, then signed it with a flourish.

Kooth showed no emotion as he took the document. “Yes-s-s, your eminence.”

Penn smiled. “Don’t be distraught, Kooth. We will bring her here… for her own protection.”

“Sire?”

“We will be protecting her from the Cullenaye who wish to extract revenge for all the wrongs she has caused since her refusal to marry the Prince.”

“I see, your eminence. And how long will we… protect… her?”

“For as long as needed.” Penn gave him a mirthless smile.

“As you wish, your eminence.”

Kooth left and the smile disappeared from Penn’s face. He couldn’t help but think that the creature mocked him constantly. He shook the thought from his mind. No matter! Soon I shall be King of the Seelie AND unseelie! Once that was done, we will march through a portal into the human world and conquer that as well, making them our servants!

I spent a week in the root cellar with Aoife and she appeared to be growing, so I jokingly commented about it.

“No, my dear, it is you who is becoming smaller,” imparted Aoife. “It is an effect of the magic within the wings.”

They indeed seemed to be gaining in size, and not just because I seemed to be shrinking, but because they were growing. More than once Aoife had to scold me to fold them, least I crush her against the walls of our cramped space when admiring them.

But they were so beautiful! As beautiful as Aoife’s, but in a very different manner. Hers were translucent, shimmery-white and sparkled as if encrusted in ten thousand diamonds next to mother-of-pearl whereas mine were a combination of iridescent onyx and clear, but with gold-and-silver veins and edges that would change color with different angles. As Aoife had described, when light would hit them, the colors would shift from black to gold to silver in lightning flashes.

And they itched like hell where they were attached. Especially when I put on a shirt.

Oh, yes. Aoife pointed out that I was “still in a state of undress.” When I told her I didn’t have clothes that would fit over the wings, she laughed and pointed out that the wings would find a way through any material. And, so they did! But, damn it, they itched!

On the tenth day of our hiding, Aoife declared that it was time to go out and stretch, “But they may be watching, so be ready to jump back inside at a moment’s notice.”

I looked at Aoife with fear in my eyes and she reassured me. “I didn’t mean to alarm you. But watch with your ears as well as your eyes. If the birds stop chirping and the forest abruptly goes quiet, that is a sign that something foul is afoot.”

“O-okay.”

“Today, I will teach you the basics of flight.

“What do I need to learn?”

She smiled. “First, you need to learn to coordinate. Spring into the air and begin fluttering your wings.”

“Spring how?”

“Just like you would jump,” she explained as she undid the ward protecting the cellar. Even though it had let me in, the magic had refused to let me out during that time. Aoife had said it was for my own good. She may have been right, but I’d wanted a smoke and groused about having used up my pack.

“Those things are horrid for your health,” she decried. “I don’t know how you can do that to yourself.”

“Dairsy and Mumsy smoked pipes,” I retorted.

“Dairsy and Mumsy do a lot of things you shouldn’t.”

She undid the bolt and slowly pushed up the door.

“The-coast is-clear,” creaked Uula quietly in a slow rock.

“Come, Ei… Mary…”

I followed Aoife out as she spilled the sack of potatoes all over the floor. Aoife had me quickly gathered them up and put them back, “just in case we had to return,” but not explaining why.

Thanmalome began to expand for Aoife and gave a joyful shudder as he spoke to her.

“Is she…? Could it truly be…? Aoife, the girl, is she really…?”

“I don’t know, Thann,” she said quietly. “The wings attached, but still lacks the memories. Until they return…”

“She’s had a long time to forget.”

“That she has. That she has.”

Aoife led me out to the yard to show me how to leap up, then how to leap and coordinate that with the first flap of the wings. I tried, but I just couldn’t seem to coordinate the two movements.

“Don’t think about it. Just do!” she scolded.

I still failed. Not once, but a dozen times until my shoulders began to ache. Aoife looked sad and almost disappointed.

“That is enough for today. We should return to the shelter of the cottage before we are seen. There may be spies about.”

We went back inside and hid in the cellar once more, hearing the furniture push the sack of potatoes over the entry.

“What’s so special about that sack of potatoes?” I asked.

“It is the potatoes within the sack that contains the magic,” Aoife explained. Penn’s forces dislike potatoes, so they avoid them. That’s the cunning beauty of Dairsy’s magic, he puts it where you’d least expect to look, just like he did with you.”

“I had a magic spell put on me?”

“The whole cottage, actually. Dairsy is the great-great-grandson of Merlin le Fey and has inherited the powers, which is why Penn dares not attack him directly.”

That certainly was news to me! Then I frowned at a new thought.

“If Dairsy is so powerful a magician, why doesn’t he just do away with Penn?”

Aoife smiled sadly. “Because that would be treason and punishable by death. That, and Penn is actually… you will not breathe a word of this to anyone but…” She sighed heavily. “It is rumored that Penn is his son by… an indiscretion on his part with my Auntie Gwen. That, and Alasdair does not dare use his magic because it would potentially turn those in the political center against us.”

“The political center?”

“Those that care not much for politics, which is the majority of the Fae. They simply wish to be left alone to enjoy themselves and live their lives. Technically, the title of King or Queen is honorary and the only real powers they are supposed to have is mainly clerical and judicial – to settle trade and ethical disputes between the kingdoms. Most of the power lies in the Council – or did until Penn dissolved it and expanded the powers of the King. Penn has always been full of himself, though – especially so, since his betrothal fell through.”

“I am hoping this Penn dies a seriously agonizing death,” I mumbled. I saw the look on Aoife’s face and apologized. I wanted to add more about Eithne but, if what Aoife said was true, and this Eithne were me, then I’d be condemning myself.

I balled my fists and screamed in frustration.

Aiofe uncovered her ears and hugged me, then said, “Sleep, child, and be mindful of the threefold law. You’ve had a long day.”

“Threefold law?”

“Yes, it means that, whatever you wish upon others will come back at you three fold, so it’s best not to put out energy that is negative.”

“Then what does everyone else wish for Penn?”

“That he see the error of his ways in all the decisions he has made and come to his senses before it is too late.” Aoife smiled, made a gesture, and I grew very tired, remembering only that my head rested on a wad of cloth before I fell into a deep slumber.

Deep, but not restful.

I had dreams. Strange dreams where I called out in a language that was vaguely familiar, but not understandable. As I called, great creatures would come rapidly from a distance and pass over me with a whoosh causing me to tumble. Rather than be afraid, I would laugh as I pulled in my wings, right myself and then open them again to swoop back upward and land on the backs of...

...Dragons?

I would talk to them and could feel their affection and adoration for me, just as Aoife had the admiration and affection of the eagles. As I would swoop and soar with the dragons, it would only be moments later when Aoife and the eagles would join us in our play, looping and diving; climbing and floating on the hot upward thermals that carried us to dizzying heights.

In my dreaming, it seems I made some sort of pact with the dragons. One of their numbers – a baby, by their standards – had been hit by a stone cast from a slingshot when she swooped too low. It was suspected that someone of the Unseelie had shot the missile at her, for two more whizzed past my own ears as I called out to the others and protected her with a deflection spell. The other dragons came barreling down upon the site, scorching everything within running range.

When I returned, I told my father, the King, of the attack (but not of the dragons). I said that a fire had erupted, so father had sent parties out to snuff the fire and observe the causes. To their surprise, the blaze was already quelled, and when they investigated, they discovered tunnels that were recently created in the burned out places and reported back.

Father then had search parties sent in. They returned with a report that the passages were blocked by cave-ins or destroyed in some other manner. Evidence of their usage was left behind, though: Unseelie – deep in Seelie lands! Our lands!

I awoke briefly, jolting upright as I screamed. I laid back down, tossing and turning, which, of course, woke Aoife. Moments later, I felt Aoife lay a cool and soothing hand upon my brow as she softly sang a lullaby, the reassuring sounds letting me slip back into slumber.

Once more, there were dreams of me frolicking with my sister, as-well-as cavorting with all sorts of birds and other flying creatures. We even followed a kestrel and a water dragon out to the ocean where they showed us other Isles and portals. One such was a small Isle where dragons of all shapes, sizes, and sorts, swarmed and dove in-and-out of innumerable caves they said were portals to their own worlds.

Towering mountains, filled with these ancient creatures as they convened in large numbers, would sometimes heat up so much that they would spew steam, molten rock and ash as well as cause the glaciers to melt, forming pools of water to heat, bubble and become sulfurish. More than once, Aoife and I would relax in these pools before returning home.

I had this same dream twice more in the same number of days and told Aoife about it during our lesson. She would smile and nod encouragingly.

“Do you remember any of the words?” she would ask.

“Words?”

“Yes. The words you used to call the dragons.”

“No, but they do seem familiar, like a foreign word or a phrase that is in the back of my mind. But I can’t seem to remember exactly what it is or how to say it.”

She nodded sagely and said, “The memories do return slowly.”

We ate by gathering berries and fruits from the forest edge as well as drawing water from the stream so that we could boil it to make our tea and to cook food. Aoife would often glance around, checking the forest for any signs of eyes that might be upon us, but then would hear a birdsong and relax. Then we would go back to our hiding place and she would sing a song, reciting a story about her (our?) history, and I would fall asleep.

Once more I had the dream of us cavorting, but this time, I went off alone, as I sometimes did, deep into the forest and near the forbidden cliffs where I knew from reading Dairsy’s book, an ancient portal lay. I would often go through the portal, changing my shape to that of a small bird or spry animal to observe the goings-on. This time was no exception, other than I had chosen the shape of a deer instead of a squirrel and ended up being chased by a very hungry hunter who shot at me several times, but (thankfully) missed due to my deflection spell.

He was a cunning hunter, though, and would manage to flank me, and kept blocking my way through the portal. It took me more than an hour to elude him. Tired and thirsty, I emerged from the portal, sat near a stream and took drink. My thirst satiated, I washed my face and sang a song of thanks as I re-braided my hair for the flight home.

That’s when he came through.

I was dressing and cried out from embarrassment when he emerged from his hiding place and gasped audibly, but he held out his hands to show they held no weapon and that he meant no harm.

“M’lady, The song of a bird sang out through the wood such as I have never heard before and I came to investigate.”

He was older – perhaps as old as my parents, but ruggedly handsome, tall and kind, though he seemed to have a confused nature about him. Being young and foolish, I fell immediately in love with him and silently vowed to follow him anywhere.

“How did you come to this place without anyone seeing you?” I asked as I hurriedly laced my bodice.

“I entered a strange cave as I was stalking a deer,” he replied. “My village was starving and we needed the meat. When I cautiously entered the cave, I found it was much deeper than anticipated, though I have not before known of its existence. I simply followed it until it came back out into the light and then I saw you as you washed and sang so magnificently by the brook. You… you are… a stunning creature! I had to come closer to discover if I were not merely seeing a phantom.”

In my dream, I laughed as I bound up my waist-length hair. “A phantom? So, I am seemingly an ugly creature that frightens young children in the night?”

“Nay, m’lady! Perhaps my wording was hasty. Nay, not a phantom, but a vision! A vision of loveliness such as I have not seen for… for a very long time, indeed!”

“I see. And, in return, I suppose I should say you are somewhat a winsome lad, though a bit long in the tooth.”

That shook him a little and I laughed. “I am called Eithne. And you?”

“I am called Nydd the Straight, for no one shoots a truer dart than I,” he told me.

I laughed when he said that. “Your darts did not seem true today.”

He cocked his head and frowned. “I’m sorry? How is that?”

“Your…” I stopped. He did not know that the prey he was hunting had been me!

“I… observed your hunting skills… from the other side of the cave. Your shooting did not seem so straight then!”

“He laughed, but with a sad note in his voice. “Aye, that may be true. I have not eaten more than a handful of seeds in a week. My vision has been blurry from hunger, which may be why I missed that doe…”

“...and you might have hit me!” I retorted in mock anger.

“For that, I should be thankful,” he told me. “It would have pained me to injure such beauty.”

I felt my face flush from his seductive words, so in retaliation, I continued, “How came you to that village, Nydd the Straight? You do not resemble any of the others in the least! You are far lighter in skin tone and your hair is straight and brown, whereas theirs is glossy, black, and tightly curled…”

“My tribe found me a decade ago, wandering through the woods and with no memory of my life prior to their finding me. I was weak from hunger and thirst.”

“Oh, how terrible!”

“Oh, tis not as bad as you might think. They were a kind folk and took me in, nourishing me back to health. I... learned to... hunt... from them and became their best.”

“Did you, now?” I said, hearing the hesitation as he crafted his story.

“Yes. They treated me with deferential reverence and I discovered that they thought I was one of their gods! I enjoyed their company, but assured them I was anything but a god. Then someone reported seeing a monster of sorts, rising up from the swamps. There were those that went to hunt it down, but when they did, bad luck began to befall the tribe. Our babies either became sickly or gradually their bodies malformed. Crops failed and game became scarce. It was fortuitous that I came upon a deer and followed it through the woods for several days until I saw it, along with a lame second one, limp into yon cave. I continued to follow, and when I came upon the lame one, I scored a strike with my arrow. I gathered the beast and carried it on my shoulders for more than an hour, but I had been unable to find the cave I exited. It was then that I heard your sonorous voice and espied your lovely visage – and lost the deer.”

“Lost… the deer?” I chided.

“Aye. I laid it down to come get a closer look at your beauty and it vanished.”

I laughed. “So, you spied upon me in a voyeuristic manner, watching me bathe and you expect me to believe your story about a deer?”

He blanched and held out his hands. “M’lady, twas not like that ‘t’all! I simply wished to discover if the face was as lovely as the voice – and it was!”

“So, why not just crawl back the same direction and find your catch? Or are you not the skilled hunter that you proclaim yourself to be?”

His face clouded with anger. “M’lady, do not jest, for as I said, some sort of evil sorcery has befallen my people. I am a great hunter and tracker, but I left no trail to speak of! This forest is bewitched, I tell you! I could not find a single marker, even when I left one on purpose!”

“I suppose I shall have need to help you in your search, then.”

I dreamt that we walked along, picking berries and fruit, with me nibbling at them and he, devouring them passionately with hunger.

“Have you even bothered to taste those fruits before you swallowed?” I teased.

“Many pardons, m’lady, but it is the first time I’ve found anything abundant in many days. Up until now, the forest has provided me with little nourishment other than an occasional creek chub or a small honeycomb.”

“Well, do try to taste the next one,” I teased. “They are called lover’s lips and I think you may find they are as sweet as a kiss and just as addicting.”

“And m’lady has had much experience with such a thing?” he responded in quick repartee.

I said nothing and blushed.

We walked and he told me of his people, reciting poetic ballads of warrior exploits, regaling me with stories of his tribe and singing lusty songs of beautiful women. I found myself admiring not only his broad shoulders and ready smile, but his keen intellect and poetic mastery. And, the tails he wove enchanted me even more with that mundane world. Enough so that I considered the folly of following him to elude my eventual duties.

The two of us paused under the shade of an oak and he turned me to face him. In the shade, we looked upon each other and I found myself getting lost in his deep blue eyes resting under craggy brows. One moment, we were simply flirting in a mild manner and the next, my back was thrust against a tree, our lips pressed together passionately.

Gathering my wits, I pushed at his chest and we broke the kiss.

“You take liberties, good sir!” I said, slapping his face as I turned away, doing my best to scowl and look flustered when what I really wanted was to kiss him again.

“Aye, perhaps I do,” he said, rubbing his jaw and finding blood where one of my nails had scratched him. He stared at it, and then chuckled. “I long-ago learned in life that I’d rather live with scars for what I did rather than regrets for what I could have done!”

I spun around angrily. “And so I should add arrogance to your list of traits then?”

He smiled in a way designed to melt away anger and I felt it working on me as he spoke once more. “M’lady, I simply meant that I follow my heart.”

I ‘hmphed’ at his answer, struggling to maintain my outrage. “So, you feel it is easier to apologize than to ask permission, do you?”

He laughed. “I do.”

I put my hands on my hips and turned my back to him. “You are quite an arrogant bastard, aren’t you? Well, I do not give my permission, at least, not to a cad of a commoner!”

“COMMONER?” he laughed. “You speak to a Prince, M’lady! My adopted father is a powerful man, a King of Kings among the tribes on the other side of that cave! If anything, it is I who should be offended that a mere forest wench, probably the daughter of a bavin-maker, should speak to me so!”

I gasped at the lies and insult, and went to claw at him, but he grabbed my wrist, pulled me to him and kissed me again. I didn’t fight him, but I didn’t quite give in either. This time, it was he that pushed me away because I’d bitten his lip. I sputtered as he let go of my wrists, then spat at him, turned and stomped off in a huff, but he followed.

“M’lady, wait!”

“Why should I?”

“I… I spoke harshly and out of turn!”

“You certainly did!”

“M’lady, I apologize for taking advantage. I am still feverish from lack of meat. Perhaps, if I were to be fed…?”

“And why would I wish to feed you?”

“M’lady, you would let a man starve?”

I laughed. “Aren’t you supposed to be the wiley hunter, oh ‘son of a great King?’ As if you really are such!”

He looked pained. “M’lady, I am the adopted son of the King of my tribe, and I have hunted. As I said, each time I’ve made a kill, I place it down so as to gain some rope with which to secure it and my game disappears!”

“Ha! Perhaps you simply missed and don’t wish to appear as incompetent as you actually are?”

That angered him. “I am the master of bow, knife, hand or spear and can best any man or fae!”

“Can you now? And yet, how is it you seem to lose prey so easily?”

His pride got the best of him and he looked away, quickly scanning the woods. Spotting something I could not see, he grabbed an arrow and shot it so quickly that I barely saw the arrow leave the quiver. He then dashed through the woods and brought back a young buck, darted straight through the heart. Nydd dropped it at my feet, pulled the arrow from the creature’s breast and wiped the blood away on the ground, not taking his eye off his catch until he had to search for the opening in his bag. He frowned and called out several explicatives, which caused me to look at him and laugh. When my eyes returned to the spot where the deer lay, I gasped and he turned, gasping as well. The creature had simply disappeared!

“You now see my frustrations, m’lady?”

I was chagrined and intrigued. “I do. Come, I know of a place…” I took him to one of my father’s lodges in the woods, where he would rest overnight during a long hunt. It was simple and rude, but well-stocked. There, I knew, were preserved meats and vegetables and I could create a quick stew.

We ate and, when his belly was full, he asked me, “I should have asked sooner, but what land is this?”

I smiled. “Some call our lands Tir na nOg, while others refer to it as the Summerlands.”

He guffawed. “Is it now? Are you sure you have not eaten some of the bramble-berries and are hallucinating?”

I frowned at him. “And why would you say that?”

“M’lady, everyone knows that the Land of the Forever Young is mere legend! Tis a mythical place designed to inspire the young and comfort the old and dying.”

“Is it?” I responded, somewhat miffed.

“Tis.”

“And you no longer believe in this myth?”

He began to laugh… and the laugh turned into the creak of a hinge, waking me from my slumber. Aoife was opening the entry to our hideaway and peeking outward, talking to the furniture before signaling me to follow.

“Tis time to wash, begin your lessons, eat, and stretch, my dear sist… Mary-Anne.”

I groaned. “And I was having such a wonderful dream!”

“Same one?”

“No. This one was different, Aoife.”

“Tell me about it as we wash up.”

I did so and she listened intently. We gathered berries and she asked questions about Nydd, then nodded at the answers as we ate.

“Let’s try again to teach you to fly,” she told me. “Watch how I do it.”

I did so, but still couldn’t seem to coordinate the flapping of my wings with my jump. I had to think about each and couldn’t seem to do both at the same time.

Aoife sighed and looked up in exasperation, then gasped. I followed her gaze and saw a large black bird circling.

“We have been spotted,” she said as the bird began to fly off to the west. Aoife mumbled something and we saw another bird fly past very quickly. There was a far-off screeching and Aoife smiled. She turned to me.

“Let’s try again. One… two… thr-…” Just as she reached three, something plopped down hard next to me and I jumped… and found myself hovering in the air about ten feet off the ground, my wings flapping rapidly.

“Very good!” she said approvingly, fluttering next to me. We looked down at the body of a large, black raven whose throat had been ripped out.

“A messenger to the Unseelie court,” commented Aoife.

“Unseelie?”

“The dark court. A rift exists between certain types of fae. There are those of us that do good and simply wish to be left to ourselves, minimally co-existing as much as possible with the humans. And there are those that wish to war against humanity and take over their world, making them slaves or eliminate them entirely. The Seelie Court stands between them and humanity, and they were banished from our realm.”

“Why do they wish to do that?”

Aoife shrugged. “It is their way. The Unseelie were once a part of our proud warrior caste. When we found our way to the Emerald Isle in the mundane world, and fell in love with it’s beauty. We lived contentedly along the coastline, in peace with the other inhabitants but gradually began to expand inward. But then the Giant Race, the Fomoraigh, took umbrage to our advances and decided they wished to have our lands. They pushed us back toward the coast and nearly into the ocean until our Mage caste tried something never tested, but known from talking to other Mage Races.”

“What was that?”

“It was an experimental breed of warrior, the Fir Bolg, designed specifically for battle, using various earth substances imbued with supernatural powers. These magical earths built up not only their strength, but their height as well. They stood over ten feet tall and were to be a match for any Fomorian warrior.

“Now, the Fomorian’s also began to fight against the mundane humans as well, so they joined us in our struggle, providing what they called, their Fianna, or mightiest and fiercest warriors. And they were quite capable not only in fighting, but in tactic as well. We waged war, united with the mundane human races, for many seasons, as our Mages hastily constructed the first of many of our Unseelie warriors.

Then, in an epic battle, we unleashed the Fir Bolg in the middle of battle and finally drew the battle into a stalemate.”

“Why did you go to war in the first place?”

“We had… found… this land as we had been banished from our previous… homeland. We initially made a pact with the Fir Bolg to be freeholders of a certain tract of land along the western and southern coast. However, when the Giants saw our magic, artistry and wealth, they began to make demands not listed in the original agreement, demanding a usage tax on the lands. Of course, we refused and they went to war with us.

“The war dragged on in stalemate and we lost many good men and women from all walks of life, but mainly from the Warrior caste. King Tedhge (Tee-guh) approached the Mage’s and suggested certain powers and abilities that might be endowed upon the Warriors. The Mages pondered this and, in desperation after a particularly bad loss had defeated one of their own, granted a certain number of the Fir Bolg these particular powers.”

“What happened?”

“There is an old saying that ‘power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.’ Our warriors were proud men and women of beautiful physical appearance. The Mages had endowed the most powerful and beautiful of them with the special powers derived from the very land itself. They defeated the Fir Bolg in both one large battle and then settled the matter in one individual combat between our strongest Fir Bolg warrior and the strongest and fiercest of the Fomorian warriors. Our warrior won and the Fomorians conceded defeat.

“After that battle, we made one of these warriors our King because Tedhge (Tee-guh) and Siaorse (Sur-sha), our King and Queen, were assasinated by the last of the Fomorian holdouts, or so it was said by the Fir Bolg guarding them.

“Once the war was over, the Unseelie leader, Balduran, who had defeated the Formorian in individual combat, was declared King by the other warriors of his kind and now styled himself Balduran the Black, after the color of his mud-armor. The Council of Mages, and our own Council, agreed to his crowning, but only if the new King and Queen would now rid themselves of their earthen coverings because, while the earthen armor was supernatural in it’s powers, it stank of rot and putridness.

“The Fir Bolg agreed at first, but not until after their leader was crowned. None of the Seelie protested either.

“Now, in the beginning of the Fir Bolg, a relatively junior Mage by the name of Merlin, had come to speak to them. He tried explaining that the magical earths used to protect them would, if not occasionally removed from time-to-time, begin to penetrate the skin of the wearer to their inner core, possibly affecting their appearance, as well as their thinking. It was a trait he had put in the spell of the armor.”

“So, why didn’t the Fir Bolg wash off the armor every so often?”

“Because they were a proud group and would taunt and tease those that elected to do so. One of those that was the most proud, Balduran, wore the armor like a badge of honor and never removed it ‘to set an example to his followers.’ It was also because the process to re-armor took several days, something they felt they couldn’t afford to do in order to remain prepared for battle.

“But, when they elected him King, it was with the stipulation that the armor be removed from him and his wife, the new Queen Grainne. Because of their pride, they had refused to ever remove the muds and now smelled of rotting corpses.

They were asked to choose one of their kind to remove the protective armor of the earths. The first to volunteer was Grainne of the Flowing Hair, who had been Baldur’s childhood lover, wife, and now the named-Queen. She was said to be one of the most beautiful warrior women in the entire kingdom.”

“What happened?”

“By that time, Balduran, Grainne, and more than a hundred of the Fir Bolg warriors had been encased in the mud for over ten seasons. When Grainne agreed to be the first to have the armor removed and the muds were gradually washed away, everyone, including Balduran and Grainne, expected her beauty to once more be revealed. But the mud reflected on the outer shell of the person the dark tendencies of within. So, as the mud washed away the flesh took on the transgressions of pride, envy, covetousness, and anger, which had moved from the inside to the external part of their mortal flesh. Instead of revealing a beautiful warrior Queen, what appeared was a dried-up, wicked-looking, sour-faced, gray-haired crone. Then, as the moisture dried, so did Grainne’s flesh, until her entire being crumbled away into dust.

“This shocked Balduran to the core and he attempted to strike out at the Council of Mages, refusing to wash away his own armor, so they conjured up a dry summer’s wind and heat that lasted for a month, stopping him and his followers.”

“What did that do?”

Aiofe smiled. “While the muds protect the wearer and are impenetrable by sword, dart, knife, or club-blow, they must be kept moist, but not wet, in order to provide protection, flexibility, and movement. Therefore, a Fir Bolg would need to live in a damp, humid environment or live near the coast, in a swampy bog, or a wetland, absorbing moisture through their feet to keep the muds supple enough to move.”

“And, Balduran?”

“His ‘armor’ became a semi-solid, so that he couldn’t move. He was immediately removed as King and couldn’t protest or fight back because all of his Fir Bolg followers had stiffened during that drought season. Merlin, now a senior Mage, returned to the forefront to talk to them once more, reminding them of what he’d warned, and telling them they were now to be banished.

“How did you get rid of them?”

“The mages held a council and decided to rescind the powers, but not all the mages were in favor. Five of them sided with the Unseelie and another huge battle ensued, this time between the members of the Mage Council, ending in a stalemate.

The Unseelie were banished, but not eliminated, given lands in the far southwest, past the Forbidden Mountains and bordered on the far end by the sea, and surrounded by bog. It would have been good land for them, but the Warrior caste had grown lazy and, used to a life of deference and privilege. They refused to do ‘routine’ work such as farming, weaving, coopering, and blacksmithing, as they felt was below their station. So they had their mages open portals to the mundane world so they could enslaved humans by stealing them as children and replacing them with their own sickly ones. They used these humans – and some of our own they’d captured – as slaves to grow their crops and provide for them.

“But the mundanes do die easily if they are overworked and undernourished, so the Unseelie began to invade our lands, searching for more durable slaves, and eventually leading to an annual battle upon the fertile plains of Aiorgaoghleigh (ARE-guh-lay) beginning at Midsummer. At that time, they will cart off whatever supplies and Seelie survivors they can all throughout the harvest season. We will usually drive them back by Midwinter and regroup.”

“Why don’t you simply destroy them?”

“We cannot.”

“Why?”

“It is a core belief that we do not turn our backs upon or kill our own unless absolutely necessary. They were once our kin and we are responsible for what they have become. Unfortunately, our attitude came to be our undoing. We gave them quarter if they would go away and leave us be, and they agreed. But each year they return, making more demands. When we refuse, they abscond with a portion of the harvest by shortening the light of our days. Each time they attack, they grow stronger and more able in their tactics, occupying more and more territory from each of the three major kingdoms.

“As children, we thought it was unjust that they were forced to live apart from us. Most have grown out of that notion, but it is my fear that our dear cousin, Penn, has not, and may be trying to unite the Seelie and Unseelie for his own purposes. We feel this is happening because the days have been growing shorter, much earlier in the season than in the past. During the last harvest season, the cold darkness caught many of us unprepared when it came so soon.”

“Will Penn succeed?”

“There is a good possibility. There is also the possibility that his ambitions have allowed him to be duped.”

“How can we stop him?”

“There is only one way.”

“What way is that?”

“Eithne’s return.”

“But I’m not…” Or am I? I began to fly around, lost in thought.

“Don’t overdo it the first day,” warned Aoife. “Your wings are still weak and small.”

I stretched them out and they were wider than the wingspan of the raven. When I compared, I was barely longer than the raven’s body as well. I mean, even as a human, I was short, but since I’d donned the wings, I’d shrunk!

“The bird that attacked the raven…”

“…an eagle. I was always able to call them whereas you were always the one to summon the dragons. And now we must go inside while the body of this bird is taken by the eagles to feed their young.”

“Where are the dragons?”

Aoife sighed. “We don’t know. We haven’t seen one since Eithne left us those 19 seasons ago.”

“How long is that in Earth years?”

“It’s difficult to say. Time doesn’t work here in the same way it does in the mundane, mortal realm. We had the lovely lad, Oisin, here when our… my… great-grandmother was still alive and a young girl.”

“Aw-sheen? I think I heard something of his legend.”

Aoife nodded. “It was before our time. He was with us for but two of our seasons and it apparently came to 300 of his. We’ve had others since that, depending on which portal they’ve used, time has passed at anywhere from 20 – 1 to 300 – 1. Unless you can remember all your lives, I have no way of knowing how long you were out there. You don’t seem to have aged, so the magic spell that Dairsy put about you protects you still. But you – if you are my sister – have been gone 19 of our seasons and now, a little more. The time grows shorter and shorter in order to stop Penn.”