I do not know what you call that, but it is not love.
On the other side of the forest, Faery waited. Called to me as seductively as it did to wayward mortals, who stumbled into our faery rings or wandered, bedazzled, into the noonday sun.
Dusk drew near. The Veil between the worlds would thin, and I could make my way home.
To what welcome, I did not know. To mockery and abuse, it did not matter. My only other alternative had vanished.
Who do you become when everyone who told you what you were is gone?
Anyone you want.
I was not the same Bess I had been. I could shed her and return to Faery, and I would not look back.
But my business with this false father was not done. “Fie on you, Eamon Grieve. May your milk sour, and your fortunes fail. May you wizen beyond your years, may your seed grow dry, and you never know love with another. I wish you a long and miserable life.” I still wore my sweet, human face, but an angry fae raged deep inside me, and even Eamon recoiled from me in fear.
“Get out of my house,” he said.
And I did.
Eleven
Beltane Eve.
’Twas after sunset, and fires glittered on the hillside. All the household fires must be dowsed on this night, and no one might give their flame to another, lest he fall under the power of the giver. Instead, we lit our flames from the great bonfires, after the cattle had been driven between them.
We.I still used that word, could not break the habit of thinking of myself as one of these mortals, whose blood made up half my own. Could not stop remembering Beltane in our village, how I laughed when my brothers—nay, Bess’s brothers—leapt over the flames in hopes it would bring them good luck. How we feasted on Beltane bannocks, and chased our rolling oatcakes down the hill, giggling or sometimes weeping, for if the cakes fell wrong side down, it portended ill luck.
My oatcakes never fell wrong side down, though I considered myself the unluckiest of them all. Not a perfect form of divination then.
As the night wore on, couples gone a-maying scattered across the hillside, giving free rein to their lust under blankets that twitched and trembled with every move they made. They did not know, but Faery spilled out its greatest powers of seduction this night, blessing with fecundity both the fae and mortal worlds. When I was younger the lovers made me blush, for Eamon called this a shameful custom, rutting on the hillside like that. As I grew older, I learned to look outside Eamon’s worldview, for what had such human notions to do with the fae? I wondered if I might ever have a swain to couple with beside the bonfire, under the summer stars.
I never did. I never would. For eighteen years I wandered through this mortal life all but unseen.
Except by Thomas. He had made me feel beautiful. And even if he jested when he called me his wood nymph, it was just what I needed to hear.
Come away, come away,I heard the wind whisper, and knew Faery called me home.
What welcome would She give? Would I be taken as a mortal plaything, easily disposed of when I ceased to be amusing? Or would She embrace me as one of Her own?
It did not matter. I had no other place to go.
I would leave, and Thomas and I would not couple beside the Beltane bonfires. Our limbs would never mingle, we would not fill the air with laughter and sweet moans, enriching the earth with our own fertility. The shepherd king could never be mine.
I cast my wistful eyes one last time at the lovers scattered about the hill.
Come away,came the voices again.We are yours and you are ours.
But at that moment, I was no one’s at all.
The air grew chill, and I wrapped my arms around myself. The scent of burning wood rose like an offering to the ancient gods, and the air filled with an energy that brought my senses to life. Mortals laughed, and drank, and made love beneath their woven plaids, and none of them so much as raised their head to look at me as I passed by.
I breathed deep and said a silent goodbye, then turned towards Carterhaugh and to Faery beyond.
My path was not smooth. Rocks bit into my feet through the thin soles of my boots. Tree limbs snatched at me, caught like claws in my clothing and hair. Tiny creatures stirred in the bushes to either side; owls cried in the branches overhead.
Come away, little changeling. Come away, Bess-you-appear. Discover your true self.This time it seemed to me the voice of the trickster, Amadan, his sensuous tones wrapping around me like a coiling serpent.
“I am trying,” I whispered, and began to run. My breath came heavy, my human flesh weighing me down. I had to pause, resting my hands on my knees, taking deep breaths as I glanced around. Never had I visited Carterhaugh after nightfall. The sky hung like rich velvet, deep blue and studded with sparkling stars. The forest seemed impenetrable. Looking behind me, I could not see where I had come from. Looking before me, I could not see where to go.
