CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Faerie Fayre

1

Now . . .

Daniel awoke just as the sky—where he could see it between the billows of the smoking woodpiles—was just starting to lighten and the stars had begun to fade. Finally his body was adjusting to the incredibly long days.

During the night, the collier had extinguished the fires and was breaking open the first mound. He had paused in his task and was resting his hands on his shovel, his lips moving as if he were talking to someone. As Daniel watched him, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he thought he saw a shadow standing before the collier, which was roughly the size of a person.

The collier stood as if listening now, and then inclined his head and raised his arm in a farewell. The shadow evaporated and the collier turned back to his work.

Daniel sipped some water from a bowl taken from the cistern and relieved himself behind the hut. After taking a sip from the breakfast bottle and ignoring the gnawing pit of hunger in his stomach, he picked up a shovel and went to join the collier.

They shared a “good morning” nod.

“My wife will be here, perhaps this afternoon,” the collier announced. Daniel was surprised; he hadn’t considered that the collier might be married.

“Is that who you were talking to?” Daniel asked. “Where is she now?”

“Not far off. I instructed her to bring food, and she says she has managed to find some.”

“Oh, thank you so much. If she was closer, would she have been clearer?”

“You could not see her clearly? Discern her features?”

“No, she just looked like a shadow to me.”

The collier grunted. “Little matter,” he said after a time. “Are you ready now to help sort?”

“Ready and willing,” Daniel said with a smile.

They worked in silence. During one of their breaks towards noon, the collier’s wife arrived. She was leading a horse and cart and seemed, to Daniel, to be fairly old, with grey hair and a graciously wrinkled face. But her eyes and skin gleamed with a youthful sheen, her movements quick and graceful. She was willow-thin, and dressed in a bodice and skirt made up of many different layers of thin, coloured cloth. Her hair was braided around the crown in a crescent shape and cascaded down her back to her waist. As the sunlight filtered into the clearing, Daniel thought it almost glowed.

“Hello, husband,” she said, dropping the horse’s rein and dashing up to him. He gathered her in his long, knotty arms and held her close. “I’ve missed you.”

The collier’s wife’s eyes then swept over Daniel. “Who is your new helper?” she asked.

“I do not know his name,” the collier said, “but I have known him to be a good worker this past ten day. The young Marrey lad sent him.”

“Tch!” the woman said in a chiding tone, still looking at Daniel.

“Imagine not knowing a fellow worker’s name in all that time. But that’s my Kæyle.”

Daniel shot the collier—Kæyle—an inquisitive look.

“And you haven’t told him yours it seems. I’ll never understand men, though I live to be a hundred thousand. My name is Pettyl,” she said, giving a slight curtsey.

“I’m Daniel.” He explained where he had come from and that he was trying to get back.

“So,” Pettyl said when he had finished, “why don’t you two work a spell longer, and I’ll fix lunch.”

Daniel and Kæyle returned to the first pile and continued sifting and sorting into the barrels. Lunch for Daniel was the food that Pettyl had brought with her—fresh fruits and nuts that Daniel had never seen before. He tried not to eat too much too quickly and stopped when he felt his stomach start to ache. The fruit he enjoyed most was purple and curved like a banana but wider and flatter with a thin skin that could be eaten and soft, juicy flesh, like a grapefruit. He thanked Pettyl profusely afterwards.

They toiled late into the evening and with Pettyl’s help they managed to finish packing the charcoal. Kæyle announced that they would depart for the market at the break of the next day.

Daniel ate a hearty supper of more fruits and nuts and fell asleep with the satisfaction of a hard job finished.

He awoke the next morning, aching as he always did since coming to Elfland, but still exhausted, unrefreshed by his sleep— which was odd, since he had slept the entire night through.

The horses had already been hitched to Pettyl’s cart, which was larger than the one the collier used for moving wood around, and, Kæyle had loaded the barrels of charcoal, stacking them two high, lashing them to the sides of the cart with rope.

The sky was still not fully bright when they were ready to start off. Kæyle and Pettyl sat in the front of the cart on the driving seat; Daniel made a place next to the provisions box and atop the bundle of cloth that would become their trade tent. When everyone was settled, Kæyle announced, “I will ask the forest for a good road to the market.”

Kæyle faced the forest and began to sing.

It was a song with no words, or at least none that Daniel understood. It started low in Kæyle’s chest and grew into a reverberation that came from nowhere and everywhere. Then his call began to rise and fall in soaring major notes and falling minors, before eventually settling into a repetitious melody. The trees before Kæyle swayed and shifted, making way for the cart in a way that made Daniel’s head spin—they seemed to be moving, but not moving, like they were shifting place into somewhere they had always been. Finally the tune began to break down, devolving into disparate notes and phrases that were common to the piece. And then it was over.

Dumb with awe, Daniel leaned back against a barrel as Kæyle took his seat and with a snap of the reins, the cart jerked off. It felt as if his insides were still quivering like chords on a harp that still held their notes. Daniel remained in this dream-like state for a long time into their journey before realising that the road that was stretching out behind him was very wide, level, and straight. It must have been a pretty good song.

2

Freya woke up with a queasy feeling in her stomach. Her body, evidently realising that she was awake, hit her with a full blast of nausea. Alarmed, she swung herself out of bed and lurched to the toilet, where she was immediately sick. She caressed her swollen belly as she spat into the bowl and wiped the corners of her mouth with a couple squares of toilet paper.

She couldn’t help glancing as she flushed—why was there always so little? What was her body doing, throwing up what wasn’t there to throw up?

She grabbed her dressing gown, leaving it undone, of course— she hadn’t been able to draw it together for a couple weeks now—and padded into the kitchen.

“Hello, sweetie,” Felix said. He was seated at the kitchen table, a mug of coffee in his hand, the morning paper spread in front of him. A welcome and comforting stereotype, she thought. She smiled at him and went to the refrigerator.

“Do we have bacon? I feel like bacon, toast—no, a bagel if we’ve got one—marmalade, and . . . mustard. Lots of mustard, with the bacon, obviously. Dijon, preferably.”

Felix chuckled. “Okay, my little gastronome, have a seat. I’ll whip you up something.”

Freya lowered herself into one of their kitchen chairs, shifting her weight uncomfortably. “I heard you in there,” Felix said as strips of bacon hissed in the frying pan. “How are you feeling today?”

“About average. This coffee’s helping.”

“I hope you’re not drinking it—you’ll get one of your headaches.”

“No, I just like the smell.” She spent a few moments in thought.

“Do I have an appointment today?”

“Yes, you do. Leigh was kind enough to offer to take you, remember?”

“That’s right . . .”

“In fact—” Felix glanced at the clock on the wall. “Oh dear,” he said gravely. “You’re running late. I let you oversleep. I’m sorry.

Quick, go get changed and I’ll have this ready for you when you’re done.”

Sighing, Freya hoisted herself up. As she passed the kitchen counter, she reached a hand out to take a scrap of bacon but received a slap on the wrist instead.

“Naughty,” Felix said with a grin.

Stomach growling angrily, Freya went back into their bedroom and dressed, putting on the minimum of makeup. There was a knock on the door just as she was finishing her eyeliner. She heard Felix open it and the murmur of voices greeting each other.

“Freya . . . ?”

“Coming!” Freya shouted. She stood straight and looked at herself in the mirror. When did she become so old?

As she bustled down the hallway, a wave of dizziness hit her. She slowed as she reached the doorway and put a hand against the wall to steady herself.

“Are you okay?” Stowe asked.

“I’m fine, just stood up too fast, that’s all. Hello, Leigh. You look lovely, as ever.”

“Thank you. Well, we’d better get moving.”

“I’ll see you this evening, my love,” Felix said, giving her a peck on the cheek as he helped her into her coat.

“Okay, bye.”

It was only as Freya was getting into Leigh Sinton’s car that she realised she hadn’t had anything to eat.

“Don’t worry, dear,” the older woman said. “We can pick something up on the way back. It’s been awhile since we had a good chat. How are you coming on Brize Norton’s Commentaries to the Names of the Guardians, by the way?”

“I don’t know . . . I’m a little hazy . . .”

“It is difficult, I agree. Do you want me to review with you?”

Freya was trying to remember who exactly Brize Norton was. The name rang a very faint bell, but she thought it was a place, not a person . . . Maybe one was named after another?

“These are the names of the guardians of knowledge:

Hanamiem, Tusemptoulous, Alsanaz, Moem, Noetinous. These are the names of those who stand at rest before them: Teitauem, Aufaem—”

“Leigh,” Freya said, deliberately interrupting. “Do you ever wonder why we’re doing what we do?”

“We’re doing very important work, Freya,” Leigh said, turning the radio off. “We’re retrieving information that’s been lost for centuries.”

“Why? For what purpose?”

“Why?” Ms. Sinton smiled, as if she just realised that she was being put on. “But you know why, dear. Listen, this is just the hormones. Relax, and you’ll get through it. I remember when my sister had her first, it was months before—”

“How . . . how long have I been pregnant?”

“What?”

“How long, precisely?”

Leigh, still keeping her attention on the road, stole a couple sideways glances at Freya. “Well, I don’t know how long precisely, but it’s been about six months since your anniversary dinner when you announced it to us all—that was May third. You do remember that?”

Freya twisted her wedding ring around her finger.

“As I was saying, the names of those who stand at rest before the guardians are Teitauem, Aufaem, and Acsatalt standing at Hanamiem; Raeruoak, Zocuam, and Zyquruis standing at Tusemptoulous; Ribmisot, Ribmitet, and Fusout standing at Alsanaz; Tuiujiat, Viorinrhvut, and Fasynipiat standing at Moem; and Ingekaper, Atuhis, and Ingekipap standing at Noetinous.

Proceeding from those standing before the guardians are those known as the myriads, who are Ekram, Zuler, and Kukilaor proceeding from Teitauem standing at Hanamiem; Umtip, Cenut, and Memeniat proceeding from Aufaem standing at Hanamiem; Jaekuq, Dojqubir, and Rylnshus proceeding from Acsatalt standing at Hanamiem; Iofunipiat, Eavashuapout, and Liomes proceeding from Raeruoak standing at Tusemptoulous; Tenclu, Teqiqiu, and Ujasu proceeding from Zocuam standing at Tusemptoulous; Rulaki, Ryngnge, and Shoqi proceeding from Zyquruis standing at Tusemptoulous; Cescimu, Guplacim, and Lukracem proceeding from Ribmisot standing at Alsanaz; Tumnot, Elsinuph, and Encutout proceeding from Ribmitet standing at Alsanaz; Raidi, Menc, and Cofiz proceeding from Fusout standing at Alsanaz; Jesnubim, Usuoeim, and Feaiovhe proceeding from Tuiujiat standing at Moem; Telme, Irjitoli, and Imimiv proceeding from Viorinrhvut standing at Moem; Guplivek, Ipieuak, and Cuoaega proceeding from Fasynipiat standing at Moem; Rujku, Angaragh, and Akakash proceeding from Ingekaper standing at Noetinous; Faquculur, Allugu, and Rasth proceeding from Atuhis standing at Noetinous; and Ullil, Akurri, and Ulamue proceeding from Ingekipap standing at Noetinous.

“Surrounding them are those who are known as the helpers of they who proceed from those who stand before the guardians and their names are Uzson, Lameffarrsiari, Ursapagla, and Thernilugfu surrounding Ekram proceeding from Teitauem standing at Hanamiem; Zerriol, Ujeiquaem, Ezegum, and Stamao surrounding Zuler proceeding from Teitauem standing at Hanamiem; Spugheom, Usgisi, Euzam, Leuleu, and Mazpesh surrounding Kukilaor proceeding from Teitauem standing at Hanamiem. Jimeolamemipem, Fareka, Ucuzul, and Replu surrounding Umtip proceeding from Aufaem standing at Hanamiem; Narpal, Eullauj, Ralungel, and Fareka, surrounding Cenut . . .”

Freya felt herself nodding again. She felt so tired these days. Something to ask the doctor about. Her head reclined back on the chair’s headrest, and she closed her eyes and drifted away.

3

The journey through the forest took them three days. During the first night, when Daniel was curled up in the back of the cart, just on the edge of drifting off to sleep, he heard someone call his name so loudly and so clearly that he jerked around and sat up, staring into the darkness for some time, hardly daring to breathe.

“Daniel!”

He would have answered, but the voice was clearly, unmistakably Freya’s. Kæyle and Pettyl were huddled close together on the seat up front. They had obviously not heard anything out of the ordinary. Daniel lay back down but didn’t sleep. He was feeling tired—and more than tired, weak. He was obviously malnourished and kept thinking back to the stone that Kay Marrey had given him that he had foolishly let drop in the forest on the first night. Perhaps that contained minerals that he needed. Well, maybe he’d find something to replace it at the Fayre—or better yet, a way home.

They made good time, it would seem, since they traveled during the night. Daniel didn’t know how they or the horses could still see the road, but he imagined that their elf senses were equal to the task. Kæyle and Pettyl took turns driving, allowing the other to sleep—stretching out in the back of the cart while Daniel rode up front. The only rest off the road they took was for the horses when they needed to be fed. Daniel enjoyed the journey.

The movements of the cart, though not always gentle, were comforting, and the shifting green treescape was like a tonic for his soul. It was three long days of calm and peace, and the last of that for a long time afterwards.

He came to know Pettyl better. She was very talkative and told him stories of Elfland and histories of the forest, in particular tales of the birds that Daniel found especially compelling.

On the afternoon of the second day, Daniel heard Freya call his name again as they stopped to feed the horses.

“Daniel!”

He was drinking a hot tea-like drink that Pettyl had made and nearly spilled it all over himself when he leapt off of the stone that he sat on.

“Daniel,” Pettyl said, “are you alright?”

“I’m fine. It’s just a little hot,” he said, holding out the tin cup. He sat back down and drank, trying to hide his anxiousness. It sounded like Freya needed him, and badly.

And so it was that they came to the lowlands and joined a road that Kæyle had not asked for. And so they left the forest, but not before Kæyle gave a song of thanks to the forest for what it had provided them.

This last leg of the trip was a short one, but fascinating, for they now traveled along a road that was intermittently cobbled and well worn. The landscape was open, and the strange distortion of distance meant that Daniel was able to see miles farther than he could in his own world, giving views of hilly farmlands where houses of bulbous design, constructed from white carved stone and wood, dotted the landscape.

“Who lives in those?” Daniel asked Pettyl.

“No one very much, I should think,” answered Pettyl. “Many of these are now abandoned since the nine princes gained rule of the kingdom. Some of the farmers have been chased off, some killed, and some dead in the wars. The widows and daughters will have worked the farms for a short time and then dispersed to wherever their relatives were still living—or to become married elsewhere.”

“That’s too bad,” Daniel said, gazing glumly at one of the odd structures.

Not long after, they passed through an entire elfin village— similarly deserted. There were only a dozen or so buildings, but they were magnificent. They were carved out of the same white stone as the farm buildings, and the shapes—unlike Niðergeard’s, which were all lines, ridges, and arches—were organic, as if they had grown like shells to house strange, enormous creatures. But they were old and decaying. Roofs and walls had collapsed and spilled out into the streets, allowing a view of the rooms inside, which looked like honeycombs, no less organic than the exterior.

“This place was beautiful once,” Pettyl said. “We came here often, being the nearest settlement. The spires and edifices were decorated with flags and banners of every colour under the sun.

Banquets and parties were common, for the elf-folk in these parts love a festival above all else and make it the chief aim of all their work. There are twenty-seven grand festivals in the rural elf’s calendar, and any number of lesser local ones. The feast hall over there”—Pettyl pointed to a large amphitheater structure that had a wooden roof on it that had partially collapsed—“held most of the festivities when the weather was inclement. Other times, marquees would be raised and bonfires built. It was customary to visit other villages during local celebrations, so that elves from hundreds of miles around would come to know each other, enjoy each other, love each other . . .”

Pettyl’s voice trailed off. The cart rattled on through the dead streets and soon the village was behind them.

“Where are we going?” Daniel asked. “Where is the market held? Is it in a city?”

“No, but it will seem like a village, if one made of tents and booths. It is a gathering place—a very old one. It is near a large standing stone which marks the confluence of several counties and has been a festival site for many generations. In times past it used to be a station on the King’s Circuit—he would visit once a year and dispense justice to those who gathered there. Obviously, that doesn’t happen anymore. The princes sometimes keep this custom, but if they do, it is only to revel.”

“When was the last time you were here?”

“On market day last season.”

Their path joined a wider road, and Daniel could see another cart, this one covered, some distance ahead of them and, after cresting a hill and looking down upon a shallow valley, more wagons ahead of that. The traders were coming to market.

A procession of riders on magnificent horses passed them. First came what Daniel assumed were guards—they were dressed in leathers stained stained forest green and wore armour made of silver; each carried a long spear that was tipped with a head of bronze. Then came a young noble and his lady. He was dressed in blue and purple garments—a large, flowing cloak, heavy waistcoat, and trousers that ended at his knees where long riding boots began. He wore a wide-brimmed hat with long feathers of purple and black. Behind him, riding sidesaddle in a dress made up of layers of green silk and velvet, was a beautiful young woman. She also wore a large hat with black and green feathers. Unlike the Elfin gentleman, there were little silver bells attached to her clothes, gloves, saddle, and bridle, which jingled softly, like wind chimes, when the horse pranced past.

The riders passed by without a word being said on either side and eventually disappeared into the road ahead. “Who were they?” Daniel asked.

“Just travelers. A lord and lady, by the look of it,” Kæyle remarked tersely.

They were passed by another elf on horseback, this one dressed in clothing that was quite hard to make out, since it was completely covered with brightly coloured ribbons of varying lengths. His hat was squat and had streamers erupting from the top of it. All this was dazzling, but that was nothing compared to the elf’s smile, which was like a blazing sunbeam when he flashed it in Daniel’s direction.

“Good day to you, collier Kæyle,” greeted the rider. There was a large instrument, rather like an oversized cello, lashed to his saddle, the neck of which was wide, fretted, and extended above his head.

“Good day, Awin Kaayn,” responded the collier. “Where will you be performing this market?”

“In the usual place—the common court—except for this evening when I will be entertaining the Elfin Prince Lhiam-Lhiat in the feast hall.”

“Is he one of the nine?” Daniel asked Pettyl in a low voice, but loud enough that the musician heard him.

“Aye, he is,” the brightly costumed Faerie said. “The Secondeldest of the Nine Great Rulers. Do you want to meet him?” he asked with a sly grin.

“Would I be allowed?”

“All things can happen for a price.”

“I don’t have any money—”

Daniel stopped talking as the collier placed a hand on his knee.

This act was not unnoticed by the minstrel, who merely continued to smile wryly.

“All of us are given great treasures at birth that may be negotiated and bartered with. Do you have an artist’s eye? What good is it to you if you don’t use it—you might enjoy having a musical ear instead, so why not trade it? Why hold on to your dancer’s toe if you never exercise it? Better to have a hound’s nose or the tongue of the birds. Nearly every virtue is saleable—as are all of the vices, except for one—do you know what that is?”

Daniel didn’t respond, but Awin Kaayn seemed determined to wait for an answer, so he shook his head.

“Greed! You’ll never find anyone willing to part with it!” He laughed merrily at his joke. Kæyle and Pettyl frowned and continued looking stonily at the road.

“Well,” the minstrel said, evidently knowing when a crowd had turned sour. “I’ll be off. Find me at the Fayre, young master,” Kaayn said to Daniel, “and I’ll play a song just for you.”

And with a final flash of his smile, the minstrel spurred his horse and galloped on ahead, disappearing from sight a few minutes later around a bend in the road.

“It will go better,” Kæyle said to Daniel after a time, “if you allow me to deal for you at the Fayre, or you will find return to your own world quite beyond your means.”

Nothing more was said and no other travelers greeted, until the Fayre was finally visible. There were indeed tents and booths set up, into the hundreds, and some were well over two storeys and made of many different composite parts. The booths were generally cubic and regularly spaced. The tents above them were of variable heights and sometimes spanned multiple booths. All were festooned with bright flags and banners embroidered with symbols of their trade. Freestanding tents were often erected in complex star-shaped patterns layered on top of each other, sprouting other tents out of their sides and sometimes out of their tops. Daniel wondered if they actually had different floors in them— some of them seemed as big as hotels.

The people were no less strange and vibrant. All of them were dressed in such dazzling colours and fabrics that Daniel nearly became hypnotized by the ever-shifting crowd. More than a few nobles were swanning about in clothes decorated with glittering metals and stones.

Due to the size of Kæyle’s wagon, they were made to circumnavigate the Fayre in order to reach the area where the collier would set up his stall. This was in a lower part of the site, which was already quite muddy and where elves dressed in less ostentatious outfits seemed to be engaged in bartering for livestock or food stock.

The collier hopped down from the cart and led the horses by their bridles to a large authoritarian figure whom the chaotic swarm of workmen seemed to orbit. They exchanged a few words, and Daniel saw the rotund elf point towards a bank of flimsy structures that some worker elves were attempting to erect. Kæyle led the cart to their designated booth, which was little more than three flimsy walls that reminded Daniel of the fencing around his garden when he was young. There was also a large central post that rose from a hole in the middle of the site, which leaned at a disconcerting angle.

As Daniel helped Pettyl unload some of the smaller barrels packed with charcoal, Kæyle went to borrow some tools from the workers. He returned with a mallet and some wooden pegs, which he hammered into the ground alongside the walls and central posts in order to more firmly anchor them. It was the work of a moment and made the thin panels sturdy and upright.

Then they set up their stall. Pettyl took the job of raising the tent as the other two unloaded the large barrels of charcoal.

Daniel watched Pettyl scale the central pole, gripping a loop of string that she tied at the top and used to hoist the canopy, which was green and grey.

“Those are the colours of our trade,” Pettyl explained when asked. “Red and yellow are the goldsmith’s, white and grey the silversmith’s, brown and black the bronzesmith’s, white with black and red feathers is the fletcher’s, yellow and orange the brewer’s, and so on. You will soon learn them.”

“What about the . . .”—he didn’t know the word in Elfish, so he used the English—“blacksmith’s?” He was interested in what elfish weapons were to be had. “What colour is that? Red and black?”

“What is a ‘blacksmiths’?” she asked, unpacking and smoothing down the surface of a long banner.

“Someone who shapes, um . . . steel,” Daniel replied. “An ironmonger.” He drew his sword and tapped it.

Pettyl twitched, as if shocked. “Put that away! Let none see it!” she whispered harshly. “Hidden prince,” she said as an oath, “if I had known that all this time, you—good elves have no need for such a thing!” she exclaimed.

“What do you use for swords and tools?”

“Bronze is good, as is brass or any number of mixed metals. Some swords are even made from stone, but those are expensive and rare—the art to wright those is being lost.” She frowned. “Steel is a cold, hateful metal, and iron is downright heartless. It houses none of the passion that the warm metals keep. It despises our flesh and corrupts it. We have no dealings with it.”

Daniel sheathed his sword again. This information sparked a train of thought. He now recalled, vaguely, that iron was tied up with elfish lore and myths somehow. There was iron in his blood, he knew. Maybe they didn’t have any inside them. But did they get any of it in their diet? Had he been getting any of it in his diet? Maybe that was why he was feeling so fatigued.

What would happen if he never got it? Would he die?

“When will I be able to talk to someone who can send me back home?” Daniel asked the collier and his wife once the shop had been completely set up. Daniel was impressed. Various streamers and flags had been arranged to make a compelling pattern. Sawdust had been strewn all about the ground so that it was dry and clean, and a long banner with the colours of their trade and an elfish script describing their name had been fixed to a pole a little distance away from the tent, closer to the general flow of elves walking within the Fayre.

“That is best done soon,” the collier said. “Pettyl will mind the stall now, you come with me.”

The two followed a wide path that took them into the heart of the Fayre, where a group of more interesting and esoteric stalls stood. They passed cloth merchants selling clothes with fantastically woven patterns and pictures. Smaller vendors offered strange foods, calling out their names: Roc Eggs, Christian’s Delight, Old Man’s Temptation, something called snake’s hoofs, suckling roasted carbuncles, spiced mandrake root, and more besides.

There were drinks and potions also: Honeymooner’s Mead, Red Absinthe, sweet milk, moly tea, and wines and cordial made of fruits and berries Daniel had never heard of before. Then they came to a part of the Fayre that sold charms and trinkets—table upon table of bright, dazzling pieces of metal- and stonework, as well as vials containing potions and elixirs.

“The rule for the forest goes the same here—perhaps more so.

Lest you be trapped here permanently, touch nothing.”

Daniel kept his hands in his pockets but took in all he could with his eyes. There was a banner outside one blue-and-black tent that caught Daniel’s attention—he couldn’t read what it said, but it bore shapes that apparently represented different realms, because one of them was shaped exactly like Great Britain.

4

Alex inspected the wound at his side. It wasn’t much. It didn’t look as if he would need stitches. He went towards the dead dragon and started to work his sword out of it. “That was a good upwards swing,” he complimented Maccanish. “And well placed.”

“Thank you. I’m a keen golfer. What do we do with the body?”

“Whatever you like. Although it’s not going to be around for long. The natural chemicals it makes in order to spit fire are highly corrosive. It’ll be a pile of sludge by nightfall unless you know the proper way of removing them. Look, see—the head is already decaying.” Alex finally managed to pull his blade free. He inspected it. Apart from being covered in acidic dragon’s blood, it seemed none the worse for wear. It needed a good cleaning. Luckily, he had an alkali solution wash in his Land Rover.

“Remarkable. What about the trolls?”

“Again, whatever you please. Leave them here or call the Royal Society of Anthropology. That’d give them a fright. I always wondered what would happen if someone did that. In any case, my work here is finished. You had bigger problems than I thought if you had a dragon move in here.”

“So what does that mean?” Maccanish asked. They stepped outside and stood in the cave’s mouth. “What does that mean for the valley? For our troubles?”

“Well, you’ll be back to being able to sleep, for a start. People will be less inclined to evil deeds and the feeling of dread and oppression will be lifted. But people will still be hurt, and they’ll still be frightened, as they won’t understand, or allow themselves to understand, what has happened. It’ll be your job to help them through that. You need to keep an eye out, though. If the people hereabouts slide back into despair, these things and more could come back. Keep an eye out. And I’ll give you a number where I can be contacted. But you can give thanks now that you have been delivered from evil.” Alex stuck out his hand. “And I can give thanks that you’ve kept such an excellent golfing form.”

Maccanish smiled and shook Daniel’s hand.

“What are you going to do now?” Maccanish asked.

“There’s one more thing that I need to check on. You go on back. Thanks again for your help.”

“Thank you.”

Rector John Maccanish started off, back down Morven. As

Alex watched him go, he heard the man begin to sing a hymn as the clouds finally opened and released a gentle rain upon the mountain and its plain.

Alex went back into the cave. He broke another glow stick and clipped it next to the other, which was dimming. He hung his sword by its hilt onto a carabiner on his belt; it bumped comfortingly against him as he walked. There would be no more danger here—he was no longer on alert.

Instead, he tried to get himself in the right frame of mind— doing the mental exercises his father taught him—and walked farther into the tunnel. He stepped cautiously over the body of the dragon and then those of the trolls. He turned the corner and passed the dragon’s pile of shiny loot—its bedding. Then he came to a chiseled stone wall made of square one-foot-by-one-foot blocks, and about as high and wide as a standard doorway.

Alex put his hands up against it and cleared his mind, thinking only of being between. He had no intents or aims in life; he was open to all options. He was standing at the crossing of all paths.

He visualized this last thought as standing in a country road with signs pointing in all directions.

It took a few moments before he felt his hands sinking into the stone. It was harder now that he was older and had a purpose in life, but his heart and soul were still open to new callings. Once his arms were through the stone, it was easy. He visualized himself being between the stones now. He stepped forward and, with a sensation like moving through water, he was through and into the hidden chamber of Morven.

It was much like the others he had been in. A simple octagonal room with a ceiling, perhaps lower than others. Silver lamps lined the walls, throwing their ancient light on the stone plinths and the eight sleepers that lay on them.

Except that these warriors were no longer sleeping—they were dead. They had been dressed in full plaids and sporrans and had been armed with two-handed claymore swords and sgian dubhs, but now their corpses were mangled, eviscerated, picked-over. Flesh had been torn from bone, joints separated, and the pieces scattered.

It had been a one-sided slaughter. Looking at the centre of the chamber, he saw the fragments of the stone-coloured oblong egg that the dragon had hatched from. It had been easy to see what had happened as the infant dragon hatched and fed first on one body and then the next, probably over the course of a couple weeks, maybe more. The trolls, attracted to the area by its atmosphere of evil, had set up in the cave and it had killed them too. As lucky as he was to escape with his life, it was a marvelous stroke of fortune—for him and the entire country—that Alex had come across the dragon now while it was still an infant and not a fully grown adult.

But who placed the egg here? Across the chamber, the wall, which was supposed to be enchanted like the one he had passed through, had been torn down—or rather, knocked through. Its stones lay strewn across the floor.

A hand clamped around Alex’s foot and he started. He swallowed and looked down in horror—one of the dead bodies’ arms was gripping his boot. It was connected to a shoulder, a torso, a head, and nothing else. The mangled face of the highlander moved and Alex heard the words, in Gaelic, “Fuasgail sinne.” Release us.

The spirits of the dead men were still in their bodies—they had not been released from their contract of immortality yet. They had lain here all this time, waiting for the battle, and for them the fight had never come, only a painful, prolonged death. With a lump in his throat, Alex pulled his foot gently out of the knight’s hold and strode to the wall where the horn was hanging. He blew a strong note on it, and the air seemed to grow warmer; a wind moved through the tunnel with a sound like a sigh of relief.

For a moment there appeared before Alex’s eyes the silvery outline of a man in old highland gear with a gleaming sword in his hand.

“Buidheachas,” the figure said, looking Alex in the eye.

“Slàinte agad-sa,” Alex replied. “Slàn leat.”

The apparition smiled and then faded. The lamplight returned to its full brightness, and the chamber was still.

Alex set about rearranging the bodies on the stone slabs as best he could—there would be no more honourable burial place than this cavern, where the lights would burn for all time. It was gruesome work, but after a while he managed to place the bodies and weapons in respectful order.

He stood for a time looking at the torn-down wall and wondered who had made it and where they had come from. The largest part of him wanted to follow it and track down whoever had done this, but he knew that wasn’t the prudent thing to do. Instead, he left back through the wall he had entered by, went through the cave, and stepped into the open, still-drizzling air.

As he walked down the mount and back to his Rover, he pulled his phone from his pocket and rang his associate.

After relaying what had occurred, omitting no detail, his associate said, “The bleed has started—but it is hard to tell the extent, even yet. We must go to Niðergeard—that is where we will find answers.”