Dreams and Shadows (11 page)

“Nixie Knocks did,” Ewan replied. “I didn't see anyone else.”

Dithers set Ewan down and let out a shrill whistle. “ANYONE OUT THERE?” he called into the night. “
ANYONE?
”

For a moment there was no reply, until . . .

“Well, shit.” Emerging from the dark seeped the misty form of Bill the Shadow. “That was a nightmare.” He gazed over at Dithers, looking him up and down, then tipped his hat. “You look a little banged up, old buddy. How you holding up?”

“I'll be fine,” muttered Dithers. “Hurts like a thousand needles stabbing me all at once, but I'll live. You see what happened to anyone else?”

Bill nodded sadly, reaching up, removing his hat, holding it politely over his chest. “Dragana and Nils.”

Dithers swallowed hard, shaking his head, his eyes glazing over with the hint of tears. “They were good friends.”

“As good as one can find in the Limestone Kingdom,” agreed Bill.

“Well,” said Dithers, “I guess we should collect Nixie Knocks and head back to the court.”

“Bah!” cursed Bill. “Let that creepy little shit run back to his precious
mama
in the lake. Let
her
deal with him.”

Mallaidh spoke up sadly. “His mom got killed. The horse lady got her.”

“You saw it?!” asked Dithers. Both children nodded slowly. Then Dithers looked at Bill. “What did they want? Did you hear anything?”

Bill shook his head, but Mallaidh nodded eagerly. Ewan looked at her as if to tell her to stop, but it was too late. Mallaidh spoke up, sounding a little hurt, trying to make sense of the words coming out of her own mouth. “She said I was going to kill Ewan.” Bill and Dithers traded confused looks. “She said she saw me kill Ewan.”

Bill shook his head, spitting in the dirt. “Aw, hell. Now we've got to talk to Meinrad.”

“We were going to have to talk to him anyway,” said Dithers.

“Yeah, but now it's messy.” Bill motioned to Ewan. “This could have been about him.”

“We don't know
what
this was about.”

“No,” he said, peering out from beneath the shadowy brim of his hat. “But I could hazard a guess.”

Dithers looked cheerlessly at the children, then back up at Bill. “Let's get them home.”

I
T WAS ALMOST
dawn before they arrived back at camp, the sun reaching up to pluck the stars one by one from the night sky, its glorious pink crown peeking over the horizon, the muggy morning dew drenching everything as if it had rained all night. Ewan wanted nothing more than to drink a saucer of milk and fall into bed. Dithers, on the other hand, had a long day ahead of him. He walked Ewan back to their cave, a small alcove set in a limestone rock face, sheltered by a large hackberry tree. On the stone floor, offset into a dug-out burrow, lay straw swept into the shape of a crude mattress. Next to it was a fresh saucer of milk, left by pixies sometime during the night.

Dithers pointed to the makeshift bed. “Go ahead and drink up your breakfast, then get some sleep.”

“Okay.” Ewan got on his knees by the bed, picking up the solid, stoneware saucer in both hands, and lapped up the milk, careful not to spill a single drop; he was told never to spill a drop. Then, after guzzling down the entire bowl, licking it clean, he set the saucer down, collapsed on his straw pile, pulling a brown rag of a blanket up to his neck. “Dithers?”

“Yes?”

“Did we do bad tonight?”

“No. Why would you say that?”

“Well, Hell came up to punish us for the bad things we were doing to those people.”

“No, no, no,” said Dithers, waving his arms frantically, dismissing the thought entirely. “Hell came up for a very different reason.”

“What reason?”

“I don't know. That's what we're going to figure out.”

“They weren't mad because I killed that guy?”

“Ahhhh. So that's what this is about.” Dithers bent down on one knee, putting both hands on Ewan's shoulders. “What you did was gentle, Ewan. That boy was suffering.”

“But I killed him like a rabbit.”

“Yes, but he was already dying. You just killed him before the pain got any worse.”

“But that means Dragana killed him.”

“Well, yes. She did. That is what she does . . .” Dithers looked away, mourning for a moment. “Did, I mean.”

“But why did she kill people? Isn't that wrong?”

“No,” Dithers said, shaking his head. “People are food.”

Ewan's eyes grew wide and he sat up, propping himself on his elbows. “People are food? But I'm a people!”

“No, Ewan. You're a special peop . . . person. You're not like them.”

“Why not?”

“Because you were chosen to be a fairy, like me. Do you drink fairy milk?”

Ewan looked over at the bowl as if it should be obvious. “Yeah.”

“And do you play with the other fairy children?”

“Yes.”

“Then you are mostly fairy. And one day, very soon, your journey will be complete and we will celebrate under a full moon and make you one of the court forever.”

“Will I have to kill people?”

Dithers laughed. “No. You'll be a special sort of fairy.”

“What kind is that?”

“One with a very important destiny.” He smiled, pointing a knowing finger at the young boy. “Every fairy has a job, a reason for being. We all serve a purpose. Some fairies are rulers, like the Limestone King; other fairies are hunters, like redcaps or nixies; some fairies dance; some fairies, like me, make beautiful music for all of their friends. Each one of us has something to contribute, something we are called on to do. And sometimes that involves killing things.”

“But isn't that wrong?”

“No. It's wrong to kill
each other
. But every fairy has its own special way of feeding, and sometimes that involves the life force of people.” Ewan looked at Dithers skeptically. “Tell me this, Ewan. Would you have felt bad for that rabbit, had you gotten a chance to kill it for dinner?”

“No,” he said, looking guiltily down into his lap.

“Why not?”

“It was going to be dinner.”

“Well, that's all people are to some fairies. Dinner.”

Ewan looked up, tears welling in his eyes. “But no fairies will eat me, will they?”

Dithers laughed again. “Nope. I won't let them. That's my job. Meinrad gave that job to me almost seven years ago and I haven't let him down yet.”

“Is that your job? Taking care of me?”

“You bet. And I'm good at it, don't you think?”

Ewan smiled, nodding, wiping his eyes dry with his sleeve. “Very.”

“Well then, give me a hug.” Ewan wrapped his arms around the Bendith's neck, Dithers squeezing back. “Get some sleep.”

Dithers stood up and stepped outside. He gazed into the distance at the sun cresting over the hills.

“Meinrad wants a word,” said a familiar voice from over his shoulder. He looked back.
Coyote
. The old trickster stood there staring at him, sullen, with mournful eyes as Dithers's heart sank into his stomach; the only thing worse than Coyote smiling at you was when Coyote
wasn't
smiling at you.

“Shit.”

“I wouldn't worry too much,” said Coyote. “You'll be fine. As long as you told someone about taking the
Tithe Child
on a hunt before you left.”

Though it seemed impossible, Dithers's expression fell even further and he buried his face in his hands.

Coyote smiled. “Like I said, I wouldn't worry. I knew.”

Dithers looked up at him. “How did . . . ?”

Coyote cocked his head back toward Dithers's cave. “Ran into your boy yesterday. And no one can keep anything from me that I don't want them to.” He patted Dithers on his meaty shoulder. “Come on. Let's go get you out of trouble.”

The two walked off together out of the camp, into the woods.

“So what do you think they were trying to tell us?” asked Dithers. “Do you think it's about the tithing?”

Coyote smiled. “For your sake, my friend, let's hope not.”

 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

T
HE
D
EVIL'S
D
UE

An excerpt by Dr. Thaddeus Ray
,
Ph.D.
,
from his book
A Chronicle of the Dreamfolk

There are few things in this world more insidious than the notion of tithing the Devil. Certainly there are more violent acts and more stomach-turning deeds to be found among the habits of the fae, but none are so deliberately thought out or so cruelly and coldly enacted as that of the Tithe.

While many tales exist of its origin, most point to a deal struck by the fae sometime before the Common Era. Popular tales insist that fairies once had incredibly brief life spans, most never living long enough to see their teen years. They left behind no art, no literature, and no tangible mark on the world at all. Generation after generation of fairy were born of this world, lived, and then died in it, while the world went on mostly unaware that they were ever here. They tried desperately to find a way to live longer, with no success, until the Devil himself offered them a deal.

If they were willing to sacrifice one of their own once every seven years during the darkest part of the night on the darkest night of the year, he would grant them extraordinarily long lives that would dwarf even those experienced by human beings. They would be seemingly immortal, outlasting entire generations of men. That sacrifice was called the Tithe.

They accepted. The fairies drew lots every seven years and one unlucky fairy would accept his or her fate. Soon after that, when their extended lives carried them into their forties or fifties, they began selecting the fairy who was the eldest among them and ended its life for the sake of them all. If, however, they did not select a fairy on the night and hour that the Devil demanded, he would himself come and take one of his own choosing—usually the purest among them.

But as the years wore on and the fae discovered the sheer length of their near immortality, they began to relish it. They wondered why they should have to eventually give up their lives for a deal made ages ago by fairies no longer around. It is believed that it was the Tuatha De Danann who first attempted the practice of child tithing and that it was this shame that forced them beneath the hills from which they would later claim their name:
Sidhe
. What
is
known is that the first Tithe Child sealed the bargain forever and that, unbeknownst to the descendants of the first dealmakers, the Devil had included a clause stating that if ever a being not born of fae blood was offered up, fairies would spend eternity out of time, loosed from its stream. Thus fairyland, and fairy time with it, was born.

While there are a number of tales that dispute various aspects of the story, what is certain are the rules and how they are presently meted out. Children are taken as infants, often replaced by changelings to disguise the kidnapping, and brought to live amongst the fairies. There they are raised on fairy milk and food handled only by the fairies themselves. This has two effects. The first is that over time the magic of the fae seeps into the essence of the child and allows them, if they so choose, to become a fairy when they are old enough—usually about nine or ten. The second is that consuming fairy food prevents them from ever leaving without the consent of the head of the court (usually a king).

The ritual changing of a child into a fairy is often carried out on the same night as the Tithe. The reasons for this are unclear and are said to vary from court to court. Regardless, once the child is a fairy, they are sacrificed, their soul offered up to the Devil.

As each court is liable for its own tithing, fairies tend to group together geographically in as large a group as possible to limit both their responsibility as well as their odds of being selected if the tithing does not go as planned. This is the core principle behind any governing fae body and the reason so many fairies of different type and disposition will allow themselves to be ruled by a single figure or council. Fairies that go it alone quickly find themselves collected and dragged unwillingly to Hell.

Children raised for this purpose are rarely aware of their role in the community and often believe that they will live out long lives among the fairies they are raised with. It is only in the last moments of their lives that they are afforded a glimpse into the true hearts and intentions of the fairy court they serve.

 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

T
HE
B
OY
C
OLBY
A
RRIVES

C
olby Stevens and his friend Yashar had walked untold miles to get to where they were now, the city several weeks behind them. And while occasionally tedious, with hardly anything of interest in sight, the promise of what was just within their reach excited Colby more with each passing step. Yashar had been true to his word: he had at the ready unending supplies of sunblock, refreshments, and delicacies of all kind. Were they not walking almost every moment of the day, it would have been a vacation. But they
were
walking.

They found themselves trekking through an abandoned stretch of state highway—a more than generous description given its patches of broken asphalt, its fading white dashes, and the overgrown brush along both sides that thickened straightaway into a dense tree line. It was the very definition of middle-of-nowhere Texas, a relatively uninhabited area of the world full of beauty, wildlife, and a complete lack of recognizable civilization. The road was driven enough to be clear of branches and debris, but not so often that they saw a passing car more than once or twice an hour.

“Mommy says my daddy is a fairy,” said Colby, from out of the blue.

“What?” asked a blindsided Yashar.

“My mommy says Daddy's a fairy. It's why he goes on so many business trips without her.”

Yashar nodded. “I don't think that's what she meant.” He laughed a little.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean . . .”
Sigh.
“She probably meant . . . because he flies around. Like a fairy.”

“Oh.” Colby paused, mulling over that little piece of information. “So fairies fly?”

“Some do.”

“Not all of them?”

“No. Pixies and will-o'-the-wisps fly all the time. Some creatures float. But most walk around like us.”

“But then why would Mommy think that Daddy flies like a fairy?”

“Because people have forgotten more about fairies than they actually remember. They think of them as cute, fun little creatures like Tinkerbell; they've forgotten all the bad things they can do, the evil that some of them are capable of.”

“Evil? You mean bad things? But I thought we were going to see
fairies
. Fairies don't do bad things.”

“Oh, I'm afraid they can and do. That's what I'm telling you. Not all fairies are good creatures; they will do you harm quicker than you can say their name. Some will lead you astray in the night, while others will swallow you whole and spit out your bones. They are masters of disguise, whether concealed in the wood or dressed as a hapless beggar. You might have met dozens of them over your life and never known it. Beautiful women, handsome men, unwashed bikers, and stray dogs: I've seen fairies assume all shapes and sizes to get what they want.”

“So they're bad?” asked Colby, now a little scared.

“Not all of them. Only the unseelie ones.” Yashar leaned in a bit while maintaining his pace. “
Unseelie
means ‘bad fairies.' ” Then he smiled. “Some, on the other hand, want nothing more than to do good in this world—to shower you with attention and gifts of food or love or hard work. They are sometimes pleasant little creatures of daylight and daffodils, brimming with goodwill, wishes, and a desire to leave the world a little more magical than they found it. We call those seelie.”

“How can you tell the difference?”

“You just have to
know
the difference. Fairies are like people, they each have a job, a purpose in life, and after a while you just figure out which are which. Some you can tell right away. Others are much sneakier.”

“Oh. Do you know the difference?” asked Colby.

Yashar smiled reassuringly. “I do.”

“How?”

“Years of practice.”

“So you'll teach me how to tell the difference?”

“I will,” said Yashar.

“How are we gonna find them?”

Yashar pointed along the side of the road. “You see these trees and the growth surrounding them?”

Colby nodded.

“Well, if you keep your eyes sharp, you'll notice every so often a small break in the woods upon which not a living thing grows on the ground. Those paths are walled in on both sides by lilies and lilacs, bluebonnets and sunflowers. They start and they stop, with no rhyme or reason, as if someone began walking on them from out of nowhere then disappeared back into the nowhere. Those are called fairy paths, and they are roads that will take you to the fairies. There is a magic to them, and when you learn to read the ambient magic in the world, you will learn to feel and hear them as well as they can be seen. A fairy path is the first sign that they are near; small dips in the universe that bridge our world to theirs.”

“They live on another planet?”

“No. They live on ours. But they live in a place normal people can't see, in the nooks and crannies of the mind, in the places most people wouldn't think to look.”

“But you know where to look, right?”

Yashar nodded. “And so do you.”

“I do?” asked Colby.

“I gave you the sight to see them and the instinct to know where to look. You'll see what I mean soon enough. I can hear the tinkling of such a trail close by.”

Colby exploded like a popcorn kernel in a hot oiled pan. “We're almost there?”

“We are,” said Yashar.

“We're gonna see fairies?!”

“We are.”

“How much longer?”

“Moments.”

“IcantwaitIcantwaitIcantwait.”

“You can wait.”

“I can't wait.”

“You're going to have to. We still have a small bit of walking to do. But I can feel them close.”

“How do you feel them?”

Yashar stopped, turned to Colby, and then took a knee. He put both hands on Colby's shoulders. “Calm down for a second.”

“I'll try.”

“Take a deep breath.” Colby breathed in an overexaggerated breath of air, exhaling loudly. “Now again.” Colby breathed in again. “Do you feel that?”

“Feel what?” asked Colby, a little unsure of what he was looking for.

“That tickle. Over to your left.”

Colby thought deeply, his mind wandering over every muscle in the left side of his body. He shook his head. “No.”

“It feels like a little tug, as if a string is pulling a small part of you in another direction.”

Colby calmly thought, his eyes growing wide. “YES! It feels like . . . like . . .”

“Something is over there behind the trees, right?”

“YES!”

“That's your senses telling us something is near. Your mind has been awakened to the world most people don't know exist. Soon you'll be able to distinguish between the tickle of
something
and the tickle of
something specific
.”

“Like what?”

“Like the difference between someone you know and something you don't.”

“Do you know what we're feeling right now?” asked Colby.

“What you're feeling is a fairy path. But when we follow that path, we'll find some fairies.”

“Cool!”

“Yes, very.”

The two turned back to the road, Colby exuberant, a whirling tempest of warm sunshine. Soon they took the last few steps toward the path, the tugging leading them off the pavement, into the brush, the highway disappearing into the thick foliage behind them.

The path felt alive, an electric trail of tingling sensations, rippling like waves lapping against the shore. Sweet aromas hung in the air—milkweed mixed with lavender—teasing Colby's nostrils as he made his way deeper and deeper into the trees. The tree line became a forest, its canopy brooding darkly above them, dimming the harsh sun into a soft, warm glow.

The path continued deep into the wood, winding erratically, as if it had been carved out by drunken pixies chasing a confused cat. It wove through small grottos, past fields filled with tall grass and thick knobby trees. Colby bounded from patch to patch, always ahead of Yashar, his eyes glued to the ground around his feet. He could have walked within fifty feet of an elephant to one side and missed it entirely, but not missed a nickel halfway covered in dirt if it was anywhere on the path.

He had no idea what lay around each corner or bend—whether it be a pixie or a nixie, a spriggan or a sprite. Yashar had mentioned them all, and while the tales often went in one ear and out the other, fragments of them remained; there were a lot of things he expected to see around each turn and tree, but the last thing he anticipated coming across was a little boy no older than he. But that was exactly what he found.

It was two in the afternoon on a rather warm and delightful Tuesday—nestled perfectly in the bosom of spring—that the boy Colby and the boy Ewan first set eyes on each other. There was no preamble to their meeting, no warning or alarm. Both boys darted around a tree, stopping dead in their tracks, their eyes locking immediately.

“You can't see me,” Ewan stated.

“Yes I can,” replied Colby, very much able to see the boy standing right in front of him.

“No you can't. I'm invisible.”

Colby shook his head. “Not to me, you're not.”

“Oh yes I am. I'm a fairy and you're just a boy. You're not supposed to see me.”

“You're no fairy,” said Colby.

“I'm mostly fairy,” said Ewan. “That's all that matters.”

“What's a
Mostly
Fairy?” asked Colby.

“It means I'm almost a fairy, so I'm still partly boy.”

“Well, I'm all boy.”

“I know,” said Ewan.

“How do you know that?”

“Because Dithers taught me the difference between all the fairies and you don't look like any of them. You just look like a boy.”

“What's a Dithers?”

“He's the fairy that takes care of me.”

“Wow! You have a fairy?!”

“Yeah. He feeds me and takes me out to hunt and stuff.”

“I have a djinn,” said Colby proudly.

“What's a djinn?” asked Ewan.

“You know,” said Colby, “the smokey guys from lamps. They grant wishes.” Ewan shook his head, sure that this boy was now making things up. “Haven't you ever heard of Aladdin?”

Again Ewan shook his head. “No.”

“Or Ali Baba and the forty thieves?”

“No.”

“Don't you know anything?”

“YES!” said Ewan, putting his hands firmly on his hips. “I know lots of stuff!”

“Like what?”

“Like where the pixies live, and what a Buber is and where to find Bill the Shadow and why you should never dance with a fairy when they ask you to.”

“But you've never seen
Aladdin
?” asked Colby.

“No.”

“Well, you don't know anything then.”

Both grimaced for a moment. “I'm Ewan,” said one boy to the other.

Colby extended a hand. “My name's Colby.” Ewan stared him down, distrusting the outstretched arm. “Don't you know how to shake hands?”

“No.”

Colby stamped his foot, exaggeratedly throwing out his arms. “Gah! You don't know anything!”

“What do we have here?” called Yashar from behind Colby. Colby turned to look at Yashar, shaking his head.

“I found a boy who doesn't know anything.”

Yashar sauntered up the path. “Did you now?” At first he wasn't sure what to make of Ewan. Thin, dirty, relatively unkempt, the boy appeared to be entirely feral. But as he peered closer, he could see the hints of glamour flickering off him, shimmering, sparkling beneath the surface. This boy lived among the fairies and was probably a stolen child adopted by some lovesick mother. Protective though they were of their charges, Yashar could find no reason the two boys couldn't talk—especially since the young Ewan was most likely a member of the very court they were visiting.

“His name is Ewan and he's never seen
Aladdin,
” explained Colby.

“And how would he, living out here in fairy country?”

“Well . . .”

“Well, what? I'm sure there are a number of things this young man can tell us. Can't you?”

Ewan nodded. “I think so.”

“For example, I'm sure you could tell us if Meinrad is still the king of the Limestone Court.”

“He is!” Ewan spat out excitedly.

“And I'm sure you also could tell us how far we are from the center of camp.”

Ewan turned around and pointed. “Back that way and over three hills!”

“And who is your mommy?”

“I don't have a mommy,” said Ewan. “I have a Bendith.”

“A Bendith Y Mamau?” asked Yashar, intrigued.

“Uh-huh! His name is Dithers and I love him a lot.”

“I'm sure you do,” said Yashar, nodding. “And where is Dithers?”

“He's back at our camp. He has to plan a funeral for some of his friends.”

“Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, he hasn't said anything, but his best friends got killed last night and I think he's sad. He seems very worried.”

The death of a fairy was a rare occurrence; the death of many was no accident. “How did they die?” asked Yashar.

“They got caught by the Wild Hunt,” said Ewan.

“Are you sure?”

Ewan nodded sadly. “Yeah, I saw it.”

Yashar allowed only a hint of surprise to show. “You saw the Wild Hunt?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What's a Wild Hunt?” asked Colby.

“Don't you know
anything
?” snarked Ewan.

“At least I've seen
Aladdin
!”

“All right, stop it, you two,” interrupted Yashar. “Who was the huntmaster? Do you know?”