Faery Wine
Kelsey knew that she should have told Mummy about the antlered lady in the back garden, but she didn’t want to go inside and she knew that Mummy would make her. And the lady wasn’t dangerous. Not really. She blended too seamlessly with the conifer bushes, the sparse-leafed beech trees and the overgrown lawn, with its dandelions and buttercups and daisies, to be anything human.
The lady shimmered, sunshine caressing her skin. Her eggshell dress was loose and creased, like a nightgown, with a lace-up bodice, billowy sleeves and a hem that played peek-a-boo with her bare feet. Wavy, chestnut hair blew gently in the summer breeze but most of it was tucked behind the leather mask that hid the upper half of her face. The mask was decorated with autumn leaves: burnt orange, sienna, pine and sage and two curved antlers protruded from the top, their branches leaning towards one another like grasping hands.
Kelsey bit the corner of her butter-yellow picnic blanket and gnawed on the threadbare strands. She desperately wanted to touch the old-fashioned dress, to know if it was as soft as it looked, but the lady was staring at her and the attention made Kelsey feel shy.
A black and white butterfly flew past Kelsey’s face, the tips of its wings brushing her nose, and it landed on the lady’s mask. Another followed, this one a stained-glass mirage of orange, black and white. It perched on the faerie’s dainty index finger and lowered its antennae.
More followed, each more vibrant than the last: spotted-red, royal blue, cat’s eye emerald, iridescent grey like reflections on water, a tie-dye swirl of cobalt, silver and purple. They converged on the woman in a frenzy of beating wings and whistling air until only her dress was visible. Kelsey could hear them communicating, every rustle like one of Spot’s sneezes when he pushed his nose too far into a flower.
Between one blink and the next, they popped. Every single butterfly. All that remained were hundreds of dishwater bubbles, which drifted around the expressionless faerie in a gradual descent to the ground.
“Where did they go?” Kelsey whispered, careful not to raise her voice. Mummy would come if she heard her talking to someone.
The faerie put a finger to her lips, smiled and turned away. It didn’t even occur to Kelsey not to follow her.
They walked for half a mile down the most scenic of Daddy’s hiking trails, the faerie’s footsteps sure and quiet while Kelsey clambered noisily after her. The sky overhead was pastel-blue and free of cloud but it darkened slightly over the half-full lake on the right. Kelsey wanted to ask why but she couldn’t catch her breath.
The path they were on was well-trodden and dry but the foliage on either side was dense and unkempt. Some branches hid thorns or nettles and while they seemed to shy away from the lady, they weren’t as gracious towards Kelsey. They pricked her and stung her. Itchy lumps swelled on her hands. Beads of blood sat like teardrops on her forearms. A couple of them burst and dried on her skin – rust spider webs. The lady must have heard Kelsey whimpering but she didn’t acknowledge her pain or stop. The branches, however, did seem to shorten and thin out as their journey continued.
Their destination, a secluded clearing about the size of a playground enclosed in a ring of fir trees and barely a skip off the main footpath, appeared abruptly. Only a glimpse of it at first but close proximity changed that. Through the greenery, undisturbed grass and a circle of pancake-splotched mushrooms awaited. The entrance was blocked by needle-like leaves, but the faerie caressed them with the tips of her fingers and their rigidity evaporated. They became softer than lukewarm water, tickling Kelsey as she stepped into the clearing.
Once inside, the gentle wind puttered out. The afternoon’s reassuring heat vanished. A bird cawed and the noise was startlingly loud. Worry took root in Kelsey’s stomach, a fear that the faerie really was dangerous, but the sight of a butterfly perched on one of the mushrooms eradicated her doubts. Its pattern was familiar and symmetrical: white boxes and black lines, like the Chinese shoji screens Mummy loved.
Glancing at the lady, who inclined her head towards the mushroom circle, Kelsey crept slowly forwards, heart pounding. She knelt by the butterfly, hand extended, and stroked the edge of a delicate wing. It trembled, its whole body humming with nervous energy, but it didn’t fly away. Somehow the faerie was keeping it there.
“You shouldn’t treat a living thing like a toy,” Kelsey said. Daddy had taught her that when she’d incessantly chased Spot around the house, trying to dress him in her clothes.
“You are all my toys,” the faerie replied in a lilting voice as she strode straight past Kelsey into the centre of the ring. Her irises, when she turned around, were crackling with real flames and her voice, when it emerged the second time, had a deliberate accent. One word, ”oscail,” came from her lips, spoken as tenderly as an endearment.
A wave of invisible energy flooded into the circle, the current biting at the fingers Kelsey still had inside. Initially it was uncomfortable, like a succession of static electric shocks, but when she’d grown accustomed to it the pain no longer registered and a giddy anticipation set in.
An unseen force thrust the rest of her body into the ring, but even that didn’t dampen her spirits. The temporary jolts were a distraction from her other pains, and when they’d wreaked their havoc she was dosed with another shot of bubbling excitement. She revelled in it, clinging to the sensation as if it were a cherished teddy bear. It conquered every inch of her mind, injecting her with its lulling warmth. Overrode everything that she knew and believed. Blinded her to the faerie’s true intention as she kissed Kelsey’s cheek and practically purred ”codladh" into her ear.
The word had power. As if her plug had been jerked from its socket, Kelsey’s whole body gave way and her vision went white as consciousness deserted her.
She was lying on stodgy ground in a snug burrow when she woke up - alone, disoriented and thirsty. Shuttered sunbeams brightened the den, staving off full darkness, but they weren’t bright enough for Kelsey. She got to her knees and crawled towards the light, careful not to bump her head on the low ceiling. Pebbles left indents on her knees as she moved. Sticks snapped under her weight. Multiple strands of slimy moss, mounted above, touched her forehead. It was a horrible feeling; one that made her shiver.
The exit was unobstructed, but narrow. Barely the width of her bedroom window. Fitting through the gap would require strategic wiggling and a deep breath in. Kelsey managed both, and landed outside with an undignified plop.
The moment she examined her new surroundings, any sense of claustrophobia faded away. The forest before her was vast, wild and beautiful, like something out of a fairy tale. It was sun-fed, golden and so completely natural that its vibrancy hurt Kelsey’s eyes.
A staggering wall of unfamiliar trees, each taller than a water tower, blocked any attempt to explore on the left. Chittering came from their depthless shadows. Cackling. Sing-song voices that repeated her name until it echoed. The dank, inky undergrowth played tricks on her. Cruel ones. Elliptical, yellow eyes gleamed from behind a tree trunk. A bottlebrush tail, grey and fuchsia, swung from a branch like a pendulum. Squat, wrinkly creatures that held spears peered at her from beneath patches of stringy lichen. One of them licked its lips.
Panic destroyed her capacity for rational thought. She ran in the opposite direction, trampling through a pool of still, crystal-clear water and up onto a bank littered with slick rocks. Progress over them was treacherous but she made it with barely a scratch, fear making it impossible to overthink. A sharp incline blanketed by a sprawling bush bordered the bank, but manmade steps ran along the bush’s outer edge and the gaps between them were small enough for her to use.
A crumbling stone bridge waited at the top. The middle dipped, which seemed odd, but it was empty and virtually silent. The only sound, in fact, was the gushing of a river below. Kelsey dropped to her knees just before stepping onto it and cried. Fat, hot tears that left her cheeks sticky, her nose snotty and her breathing laboured. When that didn’t bring Mummy running, she screamed.
A bark-brown forehead and two dazed eyes poked over the dip. Two long, pointed ears with brass hoops in the ends quickly followed, perking up in response to the noise. The creature, whatever it was, stared at her.
“Girl ok?” he asked in a gruff voice and her bottom lip wobbled. Eyes widening in alarm he shook his head, rattling the jewellery. “No cry,” he said. “Grodd help.”
“I want to go home,” she wailed, distressing him even more.
His eyes scoured the bridge, searching for something that could help. They landed on a deerskin pouch, which was propped against the bridge, and he pointed to it enthusiastically, drawing her attention.
“Drink,” he said. “Faery wine make better.”
Seconds stretched into minutes as she hesitated. She could pretend to be invisible if she didn’t move, which made her feel safer, but her thirst hadn’t gone away. If anything, running and crying had made it worse. Grodd saved her from making a decision by picking up the flask with a gnarled hand and gently tossing it her way. The liquid inside sloshed on impact with the ground.
Watching her new friend warily, Kelsey scooped up his offering, drew the cork out with her teeth and took a tentative sip. It tasted like cotton candy to begin with – sweet and sugary. Poignant enough to make her tongue tingle. Then came the tang of ripe strawberries, so succulent that her eyes watered. And finally, as a chaser to both flavours, the rich thickness of salted caramel.
She downed what remained of the wine, pausing only to swallow between gulps, and it made her feel infinitely better. Clear-headed. Calm.
“Thank you,” she told Grodd, her grin exposing the gap between her two front teeth. “I do feel better.”
He blinked, temporarily flustered by her shift in mood, but then he grew used to it. “Why sad?” he asked as he scratched his ear and Kelsey thought really hard before she answered.
“I got scared,” she admitted. “There were big trees, with things in them that wanted to hurt me.”
Grodd nodded solemnly. “Unseelie border. Bad. Very bad. But safe here. They not cross.”
She breathed a sigh of relief and rubbed her sore eyes. Then she recalled how close to teatime it was, and how worried Mummy would be about her, and her panic returned with a vengeance. “I need to get home,” she said to Grodd.
He straightened, revealing a hooked noise, two blunt tusks and a boxlike chin, all the colour of freshly-watered soil. “Grodd help. Where home?”
“Grady House, Ashpoint Lane, Ellesmere, Shropshire.” Mummy had taught her their address when they’d moved into the cottage, and pride at reciting it correctly made Kelsey bounce on the balls of her feet.
Grodd, on the other hand, looked stricken. When he spoke, his voice cracked. “You…human?”
Frowning at his apparent distress, she stopped bouncing. “Yes, I’m human. Is that bad?”
He eyed the discarded flask by her feet and sniffed. A tear dripped onto his nose. “Grodd do bad thing. Very bad thing.”
