For today I have a
creepy little tale of the Faerie…
Beyond the Gloaming
Bran trudged wearily along the mountain path, tired, but
determined. He needed to reach the hollow before dusk, or wait another year. He
glanced at the ever sinking sun; his time grew short.
“A strange journey you're on, young man. Best think twice
before continuing.”
Bran stopped, his path now blocked by a stooped old hag of a
woman, dressed in a grey cloak and an odd looking four cornered hat. She smiled
at him, an unsettling grin that made him shiver.
“Who are you and where did you come from?”
“Never you mind the answer to either question, young man.
Just listen, and if you have the sense, heed my advice.” She took a step closer
to him. “What you seek is not what you will find. What you had is lost,
swallowed whole. Do not meddle in affairs of the Seelie Court.”
Bran balled his hands into fists, her words sparking his
anger. “I will not be dissuaded. They stole from me. I will have what is mine.”
“You cannot steal what was freely given, young man, but no
matter. I see you are unwavering. Be on your way.” The old woman stepped aside
and allowed Bran to pass, casting parting words as he left her behind. “Don't
drink their wine.”
~*~
Bran entered the hollow—a clearing nestled in the forest—with
the first touch of dusk, and left the safety of the woodland path. In the
gloaming he waited for them.
As silhouettes cast against the fading sunlight they
appeared, one by one, laughing, shimmering, the host of Faerie, come to play in
the world of mortals. Shadows danced around them, scattering light and air, the
trees whispered names in the old tongue, and the sky turned cold.
“Who have we here, come to call this night, on the Seelie
Court?” A tall Fae, with pale, blond hair and a crown upon his head stepped
towards Bran. “Come human, state your business.”
Bran swallowed, both spit and fear. “I am Bran. I've come to
retrieve what’s mine.”
The Faerie smiled. “You have spirit little human, but have a
care. You address a Prince of the Faerie. And it sounds much as if you accuse
the Court of thievery.”
Bran summoned his courage. He would not fail now. “I do
accuse you. You stole my wife, Eva. Spirited her away with you a year ago, from
this very glade. I’ve waited long enough, return her to me.”
“Ah. That puts a different spin on the matter that does.”
The Prince snickered. “A husband come to fetch a wife.” He spun about to
address his subjects. “Do we have a wife for him?”The Faerie Host laughed, an
indifferent, harsh noise.
The Prince swiveled back to face Bran. “A brave soul you may
be, but a foolish one. You can’t have her back, not as the woman you knew. She
belongs to us now. See for yourself.”
With a wave of the prince’s hand, the Host parted to reveal
the figure of a woman. She shimmered, a vision of beauty, her skin, pale,
shining, nearly translucent, and her fair hair glowed in ethereal grace. But
her eyes held a vacant, pensive stare, as if she gazed at something just beyond
the edges of the world, and her smile held no kindness, only dissipation. In her
hands she held a golden goblet.
Bran stared. “Eva?”
The woman gazed at him. “Yes. That’s my name. At least I
think it used to be, perhaps not anymore.” She laughed, a mad, echoing sound.
“Do I know you?”
“Eva, it’s Bran. Your husband.” He reached out his hand to
her.
“Oh, I don't have a husband. I had one once, but I misplaced
him. I don't mind though, because I’ll have a new one. Soon. Not yet, but
soon.” She took a few steps forward. “Would you like to be my new husband? Join
me. Have a drink.” She held out the goblet.
Bran felt a hand on his shoulder and the cold breath of Faerie in his ear. “You want to be
with your love? Join with us, taste of our wine. You can leave this world and
be with her in ours. Take the cup and drink.”
Bran reached out his hand, his fingers brushing against the
gold. It would be so easy.
“No.” He let his hand fall. “I won’t. She’s mine, not
yours.” He grabbed Eva by the wrist, turned and ran, pulling her along in his
wake. The goblet dropped, spilling the wine.
He sprinted for the clearing edge, dragging Eva behind him.
He raced for the woodland path, beyond their circle of power, but never reached
it. The Faerie blocked his course, surrounded Bran, captured him, and snatched
Eva from his grasp.
He stretched out his hands, as they pulled them apart,
trying to hold on to her, to touch her. “No, stop it, let her go. Give her back
to me.”
The Faerie Prince stepped between them. “You had your
chance. You refused us, human. Now you lose the game and pay the forfeit.” He
smiled. “But I'm not heartless. One last look, perhaps.”
The prince turned and took Eva’s hand, drawing her forward.
“Do you have anything to say to our erstwhile guest, my dear?”
“Am I supposed to say kind words? I don't have any.” Eva
smiled.
“Eva, please.
Remember me, I'm your husband.” He struggled to break free of his captors.
“No. No husband tonight. You didn't join us. A shame, you
seemed nice until you tried to run.” She turned to the prince. “Can I play with
him instead?”
“Of course you can, my dear.” The prince clapped his hands.
“Did you hear? Eva wants to play. Form a circle.”
Suddenly Bran was free. He watched the faerie as they moved
silently, toward the edge of the glade. He stood alone with Eva, encircled by
Faerie.
“What’s going on?”
Eva laughed. “They're making certain you can’t escape.” From
a sheath attached to her belt, she drew a silver dagger.
Bran backed away a few steps. “Eva. What are you doing?”
She smiled. “It’s time for fun. It’s time to play. It’s time
for you to bleed.” She laughed, with the Seelie Court echoing the sound.
~*~
The old hag of a woman hobbled into glade with the first
rays of the morning sun. She shuffled to Bran’s corpse where it sprawled on the
trampled grass. She chuckled as she took her knife from her belt and opened her
bag made of hide. Then she knelt down beside the body.
“Told you she was lost, and not to meddle. Though I suppose,
it was bad advice to tell you not to drink the wine. Teach you to listen to
strangers.” She chuckled again.
“Leastwise you won’t go to waste.” With her blade, she cut
open his stomach and torso. “Your body parts will make powerful spells, they
will.” The old woman hacked out his organs and tucked the fresh meat into her
sack. The last thing she did was scoop out his eyeballs. Then she closed her
sack and rose.
Outside the glade the old woman could sense the animals.
They were hungry. “I’m done. Come and finish the rest.” She turned and walked
away, leaving Bran’s remains for carrion.
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