By Abbigayle Adams (PG)
“It was a dark and stormy night…” — Charles Schulz, Peanuts
I.
Rob Watts knew a fey when he saw one. It’d be impossible not to after working ten years airport security in this town. Sometimes they took off their wings and didn’t have to employ the traditional trench coat disguise to hide them, but they never could get rid of that glamour on their cheeks. It was like glitter freckles on their faces, kinda like the makeup that Rob’s teenage daughter wore sometimes—only the fey couldn’t wash it off. The way they walked with their heads down so no one could see it made them look sheepish, like teenagers who’d been out partying all night and didn’t want their parents to notice.
Rob didn’t give two spits. As long as they didn’t cause him any trouble, he didn’t cause them any. He would let them through just like all the rest of the passengers. And he would forget to mention them on his reports too. Since he was the head of security and had no fey problems on his record, everyone else who worked in the airport followed his example. This gave the town of Greenich a higher safety ranking than most airports these days. Rob always felt they deserved it.
They’d already let one of the fey through tonight—a pretty brunette leaving on the 10 o’clock for Cincinnati. She’d looked so scared and miserable he’d considered offering her a nice home-cooked meal at his place, but then she’d miss her flight. His missus would never forgive him for that, even though it would probably be her fault for keeping the girl jawing all night. Besides, the girl was probably headed to a hideout near the next airport. Her folk would take care of her there. But, even with the bit of networking the fey had in place, Rob couldn’t blame any of them for being nervous when they had to use the human transports. They had an easier time getting money than cars, or any other means of personal transportation.
He knew he’d be nervous if he couldn’t leave his house—not even set foot outside the door—without the danger of someone turning him into the authorities. Or shooting him if they felt like it.
Of course, the Fey Caverns were bigger than Rob’s house. He’d heard there was even a whole forest and a castle inside. Even still, he couldn’t blame them for wanting to escape into the rest of the world. Heaven knew he had to escape his house every once in a while, him and the missus.
He’d just thought to mention this to the girl, maybe offer her some reassurance about traveling—most humans really wouldn’t try to interfere—when four other fey came in. And they were troublemakers. They would’ve been the biggest, meanest-looking bunch of ruff-necks Rob had ever seen. But Rob had two brothers-in-law who looked meaner, even if they weren’t as tall.
They walked into the place just like anybody else. Well, anybody else who meant to get arrested for causing trouble. They wore dark, ill-fitting trench coats to hide their wings and kept their heads down—shadowed by hat brims to hide the glamor—but otherwise they were the worst sneaks Rob had ever seen. He put that down to their attitude. They looked more like actors hiding from newspapers than like fugitives. They must’ve been high-rankers. In the fey Realm anyway. Not in Rob’s book.
He made sure he was there when they got to the baggage scanner. As expected, the one in the back refused to put the guitar case he carried on the conveyor belt.
“It’s just my guitar,” said the one in front. The leader—a high-cheeked dude whose eyebrows were stuck in a permanent glare. He would have had a million fangirls if he wasn’t so obviously a fey. “Can’t he just… carry it in?”
“Yeah, sure,” Rob said. “After it’s been inspected.” All he had to do was give a signal and another security guard could call the authorities with the press of a button. They all knew it.
Without giving them time to think, Rob grabbed the guitar case. Something inside made a clanking sound.
“It’s for our act,” said the one who’d been carrying it. “We’re a metal band.”
“Death metal, huh?” Rob said, chuckling at his own joke as he beheld the contents of the guitar case. Four fey-made swords, and a flintlock pistol they must’ve grabbed off the black market somewhere. He looked up into their angry faces. “You boys really expect me to believe that?” He sighed and shook his head. No fey had tried anything this dumb in years.“Call the authorities,” he said. There went his whole record!
“Wait! I—I can explain,” said the glaring one. He contrived to look blameless, but it didn’t work. Rob almost felt sorry for him. “We’re after a dangerous criminal from our Realm,” the fey continued. “Her name is Fiona of Styrm. Just let us find her and we’ll take her back in peace.”
“Look, son,” said Rob. “I don’t make the rules. It’s my job to report any fey activity. Besides, anything involving swords like this can’t end that peacefully in my experience.”
Casting aside subterfuge in anger, the fey lunged forward and grabbed Rob and shoved him backwards. He snatched one of the swords, stabbing it through the back of the computer before the other guard at the desk had a chance to call the authorities.
Dusting himself off, Rob sighed. He failed to remember this on his list of things to do tonight. Pick up some margarine and cake mix from the grocery store on the way home from work, yes. Deal with four sword-swinging fey hulks, no.
“Look, we only came for the girl,” the fey said, a threatening tone to his voice. “Where is she?”
Rob instinctively glanced to where the fey girl had been standing half a moment before.
She’d disappeared, but her bag was still there.
The fey seemed to have gotten the idea that she’d been there, and he moved quicker than anybody else could’ve. “Where’d she go?” he hissed, now holding Rob by the collar and pressing the sword blade against his neck.
Well, this had never happened before! Rob hoped he’d get the chance to tell the missus about it later on.
“Gate D,” he stammered, dizzy now from being shaken. He thought he heard the patrol alarm going off now. And a good riddance it would be to these ruffians! They were the type responsible for the plight of the rest of the Fey Folk.
The fey released his collar and dropped him to the floor with a thud. All four of the fey ran towards Gate D with their swords ready to strike the first person who got in the way. The leader had managed to grab the pistol too. No one even tried to stop them, though several people screamed.
“Sir—the alarm won’t work!” one of the other guards said, panicking while Rob climbed up the side of the desk to his feet again.
“What do you mean?” he grumbled. He squinted at the computer screen. The guard was right—the alarm system had been completely destroyed. He shook his head and rubbed his ears, trying to get the ringing sound out of them.
It only grew louder, sounding less and less like beeping and more and more like… violin music.
Thunder rumbled far off somewhere. Blue lightning flashed and the thunder rumbled again, like drums to the violin, growing quickly closer.
“That’s weird,” the other guard said. “There weren’t any storms forecast tonight.”
Rob ignored him. The music grew louder now. It seemed like ti was coming from all over the place—the gates, the lobby, the intercoms, and loudspeakers. It had started out like a concert piece, and then picked up and became like one of those old fiddle reels. An ancient, dancing, enchanting fey reel like Rob’s grandfather used to hum on rare occasion. Those were the times when the old man would sometimes impart to Rob bits of fey lore and knowledge. One bit mentioned that only those with fey blood could hear the reels when they were played on their own instruments.
Rob looked around and saw he was right. No one else seemed to be able to hear the music, though a few here and their unconsciously tapped their feet along. The reels had that effect on humans.
But then, apparently due to the storm, the power to the computers went out. No one could get service on their phones either.
Rob didn’t want any part of whatever was going on. He didn’t even want to know what it was. But he’d seen the fey girl duck under a desk when the others came in. And he’d sent them off to the wrong gate on purpose.
“Hurry up now,” he said to her, not bothering to look under the desk. “Don’t want to miss your flight.”
The girl stood up shakily, her eyes red and puffy with tears sparkling in the glitter on her face. “Thank you,” she whispered, curtsying. She grabbed her bag and ran towards Gate A.
“What’s that about?” asked the other guard, still absently tapping his foot along to the music.
“I don’t know,” Rob said, flinching when blue lightning struck again, followed by thunder like he’d never heard before. “And I don’t care.” He smiled when the reel came to an abrupt stop—just as the 10 o’clock flight to Cincinnati took off.
II.
Cassidy liked to think of himself as a patient person. But he had no use for people who got in his way and wasted his time—like that overweight half-breed at the front who sent him to the wrong gate. He thought upon reaching the gate and seeing that the girl wasn’t there that he’d make the oaf pay dearly for his lie. To aid one of Cassidy’s enemies was to become one!
They had just turned to go back to the lobby—with a polite nod to the frightened people waiting at the gate—when they heard the first notes. Long and slow—almost mournful—they danced through the air as though only the echo of a melody.
The lights went out when the first bit of lightning flashed through the window. It was blue lightning.
Cassidy tightened his grip on his sword, Styrmbringer. He could hear the breathing of his comrades loudly behind him, even over the fiddle. Some fearless warriors they turned out to be! Afraid of a storm of all things!
Cassidy chuckled inwardly, unable for a moment to hear the music over the thunder. Then it returned to his ears, doubled in volume. His chuckle turned to a snarl. “Whoever’s playing that music, it would greatly benefit your health to stop,” he growled in a voice as low and menacing as he could manage.
The lights flickered on again.
Cassidy glared from one of the waiting passengers to the next. They cringed away, stared wide-eyed, gaped, or even hid together behind their seats. None of their phones seemed to be working as they tried to alert the authorities of the Hostile Fey Activity. He struck the nearest empty seat with his sword, slashing open the dull gray-blue cover and exposing the yellow foam cushion beneath. He couldn’t keep the fearful tremor out of his voice this time. “Whoever’s playing that infernal racket, turn it off!”
Thunder boomed again, a sickening drumbeat in time with the fiddle as the melody became a reel Cassidy knew only too well. It chilled him to the bones, and he understood.
The humans couldn’t even hear it.
The lightning was blue.
He took a step back, right into Spike, who tapped him on the shoulder. “Um, Cass,” Spike said, gulping and pointing.
“What?” Cassidy snapped. He hated when Spike called him that, as if they were equals!
Spike just pointed, his hand trembling and face pale.
Gritting his teeth, Cassidy turned to see a sight that made him drop his sword. His mouth fell agape and he took another step backwards. Into Spike again.
A tall young man in a blue t-shirt leaned against the wall at the gate entrance. His gaze was down and a thick curtain of soft brown hair obscured his face. Seemingly oblivious to Cassidy and the warriors he tapped a noiseless foot on the carpeted floor. The fingers of his left hand flew up and down, dancing across the neck of a pure white fiddle while with his right he whipped a bow across the silvery strings.
Cassidy recognized the instrument at once. It was the fey Queen’s Fiddle, bestowed every hundred years upon her favorite knight, giving him the power to control through its music the element of the House to which he belonged. Water, Fire, Storms, Stones—any of the elements could be made to dance and do the bidding of whomever played the fey Queen’s Fiddle. It had been made thousands of years ago by the Elves of Lokientha, before they faded away into legend, and it was their magic which lived in the Fiddle. One of the last great instruments of Faerie.
All throughout the hundred years of knight training, Cassidy had longed for the Fiddle. He had worked hard for it, cutting down any other trainee that stood in the way of his becoming the Head knight of Storm. Some of them, like Spike, he had even threatened to keep them from advancing rank. Soon enough, no one in training would oppose his advancement to Head knight. And—as he had also always done his best to entertain the Queen at court—he was sure of the Fiddle.
At least, he had felt sure. He had overlooked another trainee, Dermot, who’d always lingered in the background, overlooked by instructors due to unfortunate circumstances at his birth when the human midwife had had the audacity to bless him. Such a thing had made life more difficult for Dermot among the fey, who were wont to bully him or avoid him as they saw fit, but it had also taken full effect. Unlike the other fey, Dermot developed a sort of gentleness and compassion—even for the human slaves in the Realm—and a noble character prompted him to work hard in training despite Cassidy’s threats or the instructors’ neglect.
When came the great Hundred Years Tournament, and the time for bestowing the Fiddle, all the Houses brought their new Knights to the fey King’s court. Twelve Knights stood for each of the Houses, except for Storm. Cassidy and Dermot stood alone for their House.
In the Tournament, Dermot prevailed—through some trick of his blessing, Cassidy guessed. And when in defeat, he looked towards the throne, hoping at least that his past entertainments and intrigues might still hold sway, Cassidy saw the doom of all his ambitions in the fey Queen’s eyes. She, in complete admiration, gave the Fiddle to Dermot.
That had been only one short year ago. Cassidy remembered the night bitterly and with loathing.
And now he faced the Fiddle with nothing short of fear in his heart. He knew its power, and trembled as the reel continued, filling the airport with its haunting strains and crackling thunder.
The player never looked up. But he changed a note in the melody.
Cassidy lunged for his sword. Too late.
It flew up from the floor and twirled at him, dancing in time to the new notes. Thunder rumbled outside as blue lightning crackled around the fiddle strings.
The humans who’d been waiting for their flight screamed at the sight of a flying sword, and ran. One or two lingered to take videos on their phones. Not many of them had ever seen a fey, let alone the dreaded fey magic. But they could already see their number of social media followers growing from this encounter!
Cassidy conjured a magic shield, then reached a sword from one of his companions. Again, he was too late.
Their swords flew from their hands, joining Cassidy’s in a deadly dance, beating against his shield until it cracked.
He grabbed for the pistol and fired at the fiddle player, but he seemed to have missed. The music carried on. He stumbled back farther. He knocked Spike to the floor.
The rest of them had likewise conjured shields, in every color of lighting. But none could withstand the magic of the Fiddle. The music continued, and the swords with it. They beat against the shields and slashed and twirled about, backing Cassidy and his men up against a wall, but that was all.
The player sounded no notes to kill them.
A few of the lingering humans joined the swords in swaying or tapping their feet to the rhythm, but Cassidy knew they couldn’t hear the music; only the storm would sound for them. That half-breed guard at the front would be able to hear this, and Cassidy couldn’t wait to settle with him—if he got through this! The music continued but moments longer, and with it the thunder and lighting. It swelled, and then stopped abruptly. The player walked away, the Fiddle and bow held hanging at his sides and his shoulders hunched, head bowed.
Complete silence reigned until he vanished around a corner in the hall. Then the four swords, which had stayed poised in the air, clattered to the floor. Rain beat a steady refrain against the window.
Cassidy grabbed his sword and ran panting to the hallway. He looked both ways, but didn’t see anyone. At one end, he heard the voice of the guard from the front. “That way, officers. Be careful, they’re all armed.”
Cassidy spat. The patrol had arrived. He’d have to deal with that interfering bumble of a guard another time.
Motioning for the others to follow him, he turned and ran to the window, using his sword to break the glass before jumping through.
They landed—having abandoned their trench coats and flown—in a small copse of trees near the airstrip. The rain dripped steadily through the treetops, soaking them through.
“Maybe we should just let the girl go, Cass,” said Spike.
“Don’t call me that!” Cassidy shouted back, furious at his humiliation in the airport. The shadows under his furrowed brow darker than the night around them. “We can never let her go,” he added, shaking his head. “She’s the only one who saw us kill Dermot.”
III.
Fiona sat in her seat on the plane and leaned back with her eyes closed. She clutched the arm rest on either side of her seat, breathing deeply—in and out—as the plane took off. She had never been on an airplane before, but the fey-friend who’d directed her here had assured her they were safe enough, as well as her best chance to escape her pursuers.
Tears still filled her eyes, but to let them fall might draw a curious gaze. She wanted very much to cry, but she wanted to cry alone. Like she had done every night. And at random times during the days. She sometimes wished she were a true fey instead of a human changeling. The fey didn’t feel sadness. At least, that’s what they’d told her. Everyone except Dermot. He had grieved with her nearly as much as she had grieved. He felt for her family, for her loss, for even the smallest creatures in the Realm when death took them. He had dug them small graves, and prayed over their lifeless forms. He would play hymns on his fiddle, and it would thunder gently.
Of course, Dermot had been no ordinary fey. Everyone knew that, even among the slaves in the Realm. Dermot had been blessed at birth by the human midwife in attendance. What happened to the midwife afterwards remained a mystery, but the fey never brought her back again. Likely, they had returned her to her home and life for her went on as normal with the whole night remembered only as a dream. The fey did that to humans, enchanting them into thinking fey encounters were only dreams. Either that or, like in Fiona’s case when they enslaved a human, they covered them with glamour to make them look the same as their own kind. Other humans wouldn’t know them if they somehow managed to escape.
Fiona didn’t know how she’d finally escaped. She’d been captured by the fey when she was only a girl in Ireland, centuries ago. They’d put one of their own kind in her place, for a week or so to pretend to be her and then die of seemingly natural causes while she was really put to work among the hundreds of other human slaves as a thread worker. It was her job to weave, sew, and embroider clothes for the fey.
That’s how she’d met Dermot.
When he’d become a knight, he’d needed new clothes, and those she made for him. After that, they saw each other often in the gardens and around Styrm Castle, where they both lived.
And when he’d gone with the other Knights to the Tournament and won the favor of the fey Queen, he begged also the right to marry Fiona. Perhaps, because of Dermot’s blessing, or perhaps because of the Queen’s delight, the King, instead of being outraged at the idea of a fey knight wedded to a human slave, liberated Fiona and granted the request.
This had only increased the envy burning in the heart of Sir Cassidy, and, just before the wedding, he’d caught Dermot alone in the garden and killed him.
Fiona had been on her way to meet Dermot, and had seen it happen. Sir Cassidy had then seen her as she fled and he’d run after her.
She left the Realm that night, running through such a storm that no one could follow her. The rain washed away her tracks. The wind blocked Sir Cassidy’s path with fallen branches, and the lightning—blue lightning—frightened his horse our of its wits for a long while.
The storm had also blinded the human patrol on the border of the Realm, keeping them so preoccupied with a loss of power and flooding that Fiona was able to slip into their world unnoticed.
That had been a week ago. She didn’t know how she’d made it this far this long, but she couldn’t go on forever. Sir Cassidy would never let her get away. And with the fey glamour on her face, he would hardly have any trouble finding her.
She’d been exceptionally careful. She’d visited only one known fey friend outside of the Realm, and they had given her what money and directions she would need to travel. They’d told her to go to the next city and she would find help there to get to a secret place where a small group of fey lived in concealment from the human authorities. Since she had no other recourse, she’d accepted this direction, even if it did mean she’d have to use the human transportations to get to the city.
She didn’t mind the airplane so much once they were off the ground. It made her feel closer to Heaven. Closer to Dermot. Surely, he would be there, perhaps helping guardian angels watch over her.
Tonight, it certainly seemed as though someone were watching over her. The guard at the airport certainly seemed like an angel. He could have turned her over to the authorities—or told Sir Cassidy where she was hiding. In helping her, he’d risked both his job and his life. All Fiona could do in return was pray that he was all right.
She wasn’t sure if her prayers counted for much, but she said them anyhow. She prayed for the guard at the airport, for continued protection from Sir Cassidy, for whatever remnants of her family might be living still, and for the other slaves in the Realm. And, against all her resolve, a tear slid down her cheek.
At last, she prayed for Sir Cassidy. The strength to forgive him, anyhow. She didn’t want to; he’d spent his whole life hurting others for his own gain—telling lies, bribing others, threatening, killing. It was part of the fey’s game. They didn’t feel like humans, and she knew he would never understand forgiveness. He’d never regret what he’d done or think of it more than as a means to further himself. He’d always hated Dermot, and now he didn’t have to worry about him anymore. The only reason he cared about the incident was that he didn’t want the King finding out and expelling him from Knighthood. He would never be sorry, and Fiona wanted to hate him for it the rest of her life. But she knew better, so she prayed to be able to forgive him. She prayed that somehow Light would come into his life. And she prayed for the strength to face him with the same courage as Dermot had, should the need arise.
The tears wouldn’t stop now. They rolled down her cheeks like raindrops on a windowpane. She focused on breathing again—in and out, in and out. It was new day. She was free of the fey at long last. Her pursuers were behind her, for now. Sunrise lingered only a few hours out of reach. She would be all right.
“Why do you weep so, milady fair?” asked the passenger beside her. The voice sounded strange, like one she knew.
She opened her eyes, wiping them free of tears on her sleeve, and prepared to make some excuse. The effort was lost to forgetfulness the moment she looked to the next seat.
The first thing she saw was a blue t-shirt with a lightning bolt across the front, quite similar to the one she’d embroidered on a tunic several months ago. She saw next a silver cross on a chain. She looked up and saw the brown hair, and then the cheeks that had once glittered in fey merriment. They did not glitter now. The face before her shone with a soft light, like early morning sunshine. He smiled, shining like dawn-filled pools of sky.
“Dermot?” Fiona whispered, rubbing the tears from her eye to make sure she saw clearly. “But—I saw you die.”
“Indeed, as a fey. It has been granted that I am no longer one of them. And I may remove their glamour from your face.” And so saying, he kissed her forehead.
The glitter fell like stardust from her cheeks.
