Feyland: The Dark Realm

Chapter Forty-One

Jennet ran into the pale circle of light at the crossroads. The silence of the night was marred by her great, gasping breaths.

Nobody here yet. She had made it in time. She wrapped both hands around her staff and tried to get her breathing back under control.

She could make out a circle of standing stones in the darkness across the road. The trembling rush of her blood steadied as she looked at the stones, faintly illuminated by the lantern. Wait. She blinked and looked again. The stones themselves were softly lit, as though they were glowing with centuries of absorbed starlight.

A noise pulled her attention back to the road. Something was coming, something still distant - barely felt in the vibration of hooves, the faint drift of chiming bells.

Her heartbeat slammed through her chest. She had to hide - but where? Not the stone circle, it was too far. Her gaze darted around the shadowed edges of the light. There, a bit of leaves with a darker mass behind. A thorny bush, just big enough for her to crouch behind. She hurried behind it and knelt down. The soil was cool beneath her knees and a prickle grazed the back of one hand, but it was the best she could do.

There were lights moving along the road, some twinkling, some steady. The sound of bells was stronger. A soft wind swirled around her, carrying the scent of spice and frost. The Dark Queen’s court was approaching. And with them, Tam Linn.

Jennet pressed her lips together, hard. The words of the ballad ran through her head. She had read them over and over all day, until she felt the shape of them burned into her brain.

Oh first let pass the black horse,

And then let pass the brown,

But quickly run to the milk-white steed

And pull the rider down.

 Tam would be riding the white horse. She’d grab on to him - and then the transformations she’d read about would begin. No matter what, she had to hold on.

Something tickled the back of her mind. Something essential she had forgotten. Come on, what was it. Think! She covered her ears with her hands, trying to block out the sound of the imminent faeries. Trying to block out the fear that rose in a dark, suffocating wave. The ballad said… it said…

At last they’ll turn me in your arms

Into a naked knight,

Then cloak me in your mantle green

And cover me from sight.

That was it; the green cloak. Oh god, she’d nearly lost before she’d even begun. She drew in a ragged breath, trying to imagine it in perfect detail. Long green cloak. With a hood.

“A mantle green.” She whispered the words.

It appeared, lying soft and heavy in her arms. She pulled it on, awkwardly, since she was kneeling on the ground, and tied it around her neck. Now she was ready. Barely.

The Dark Court slowed as they reached the crossroads. From her hiding place, she scanned the ranks of creatures. The very front of the company was led by a row of figures in pale armor, lances prickling up, faces covered by their helms. Behind them cavorted redcap goblins, their faces grotesque, their teeth glinting and sharp.

Other creatures, half-animal in form, trailed them. Was that walking clump of brown hair Fynnod? Before she could tell, a faerie with the head of a bird and feathery wings blocked her view. A delicate bevy of maidens followed, their hair like spun moonlight, silver bells edging their gossamer robes.