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When I was seven years old, my grandparents died within a month of each other. I had not seen them since I was an infant and my father had only just begun speaking to my grandfather again. They were both only in their sixties, but the doctors told my parents that it had been a heart attack for my grandfather, a stroke for my grandmother. Rare, but not unheard of.
At the time, I had wondered about my parents’ reluctance to return to England, which they had always described with such warmth and sincere longing. I heard them arguing at night in low voices, still easily audible through the thin walls of our apartment.
Finally, they decided that we would go to Oxford, nearly two hours east of Druwich. I recall my father being adamant that his parents should not be buried in the town of their birth, that they should not “be anywhere near Richard.” It was confusing to me as a child, but I understand now. Perhaps too well.
My grandparents were instead buried in the lovely Wolvercote Cemetery in Oxford on a sunny late summer day, uncharacteristically warm for England. I was uncomfortable in my suit and bored with whatever generic platitudes the vicar was spouting. A gust of refreshingly cool air swept through us, causing the vicar’s toupee to precariously slide, and I followed the trajectory of the breeze until it disappeared into the trees. There were crows in those trees, many of them, their heads all tilted in my direction, their sharp, intelligent faces seemingly fixed on me. I had the sudden urge to approach them, to speak to them, but I felt my mother’s hand squeezing my shoulder. I looked up at her, and then back at the crows, but they were gone. Without a sound they had disappeared.
Later that day, I played in the field behind the house we had rented, just outside of town, grateful to now be wearing a t-shirt and shorts. My mother was painting a bowl of fruit, carefully focused on mixing her paint colors. The shade of some trees in the distance beckoned me and I slipped away. It was a small forest, but it seemed a great wilderness to me, a city boy through and through.
I had been walking for only a few minutes when I heard the sound of animals scurrying around me. A group of bushes shook and I expected to see some squirrels emerge, perhaps a deer. Instead, a large black dog stepped out, a limp rabbit hanging from his jaws. I told myself to run away, but something compelled me to stay.
The dog sat before me and dropped its offering at my feet. Another dog approached with a dead squirrel, which it also laid at my feet. A pair of foxes joined them, one with a dead bird, the other another rabbit. A pair of cats laid rats on to the increasingly large pile of carrion. Other cats brought pigeons, their maws stained red. A wave of panic passed through me, the glassy eyes of the dead animals were haunting, almost accusing.
“Stop,” I said weakly. The animals continued their macabre procession of offerings. I began to cry. Finally, the predators sat before me, their heads lowered as if a sign of submission, hound, fox, and cat side by side. Behind me I heard the crows, cawing with enthusiastic approval.
“William!”
At the sound of my mother’s voice the animals fled, leaving me alone before a pile of carcasses, weeping profusely. She rushed towards me, but then stopped, staring at me and then back at the dead animals. The color drained out of her face, her mouth opened and closed as if to say something. I had never seen her so afraid. She took my hand and I felt her trembling as we walked back to the rental house.
That night my parents argued again. The next day I had been looking forward to going to a bookstore in town where I was promised a cookie and a new book, but when I awoke, my things were packed and a taxi was waiting for us, bringing us back to Heathrow. It was a long silent flight home.
My mother never spoke to me about the incident and as time passed I just shrugged it off as the type of odd animal behavior a city kid wouldn’t understand. Now, I regret I didn’t have more questions. My heart breaks with the realization that my mother’s silence, even when she knew she was dying, has made me so angry. I cannot help but be terrified and ashamed at this anger, to indulge it for even a moment would wound me so greatly that I do not think I could ever recover.
Oberon stood before me and in that moment, I knew he understood this. That somehow he understood a great many things about me, more even than I knew. Behind him, the mangled bodies entombed in their infection of vines moaned wretchedly.
“Can you not end their suffering? Haven’t they been punished enough?” I asked. Oberon raised an eyebrow.
“Punished? I do not punish. This is merely the natural consequence of their actions.”
“I don’t know what they did in life, and if they were anything like Richard, I have no doubt that this is justice. But with justice there is also mercy.”
“Mercy,” he said the word as something foreign. “Is that what you did, William? Did you give Richard mercy? Did you give this one mercy?” He gestured to the mass of tangled foliage that had been intertwined in a body before I had laid my hands on it. “Shall I show them mercy as well?”
“Don’t try to trick me. Are you not King of the Fairies?”
He narrowed his eyes and I felt a tremor of fear pass through me.
“And you, an insolent prince. But as kings are wont to do with princes, I shall indulge you.”
He raised a slender hand and the sporadic moaning amplified into wailing. My head throbbed as thick arms of vines and stems burst through the dirt walls and overpowered the meager remnants of human bodies. The wailing was soon replaced by the sound of snapping bone, the squelch of leaves pushing through rotting flesh, the thrashing of plant matter. A sweet, putrid smell filled my mouth and nostrils, gagging me. And then it was silent.
I tried to steady my racing heart. Oberon studied me carefully and with a pang of embarrassment I realized I was still only wearing a pair of now filthy pants, my chest bare save for the remnants of woad the villagers had painted on me before feeding me to the flames.
Oberon wore a simple, yet finely woven robe. Around his arm was a golden torque, the torque from my dream. The knife, the sacrifice, the blood pooling around the altar. He extended his hand to me.
“Come. We have much to discuss.”
I took it and a smile passed over his face. The tunnel dissolved around us and we were now in the middle of a field of soft grass, under a starry night sky. At first glance, it almost felt as though we were in an ordinary place in the world above, but as my eyes adjusted I could see that the colors were …off. Muted. The air was stale. A herd of horses grazed around us, dappled, pale things with eyes that burned with the mark of the fae. Among them was a familiar black stallion, more restless than the others.
“Our horses once grazed with their brethren above. But now, they languish here below. As we do.”
“Where are we?”
“Humans have many names for this place. For the sake of convenience, call it the Otherworld.”
“You told Richard that you are bound here, limited to haunting the barrow and its woods above.”
Oberon turned away from me and walked towards the horses. They came to him eagerly. He stroked their braided manes.
“It is true. We long for the sunlight. We walk our woods above. Sometimes we bring the horses. Sometimes humans find us. As you have seen.” He caught my eyes and measured my reaction.
“Why? Why not let them go?”
Oberon frowned.
“Why should we? They chose to come. They chose to stay.”
“And what about my mother,” I asked bitterly. “What did she choose?”
A look of great sadness crossed Oberon’s face, a swelling of emotion I did not think was possible for him to feel.
“I was riding your friend Enbarr there when I met your mother,” he gestured towards the black stallion, happily grazing in the distance. “She was riding her chestnut mare.”
“Barley.” I interjected. My mother had spoken often of Barley and had been devastated to leave her in England when she moved. Oberon smiled, the sadness still hanging heavily over him.
“William, you must know that I am not omniscient. I am the servant of Fate. When Richard Catesby came to me, I knew that through him, I would make a pact which would one day free us of our bondage. But I could not see the future. I could not see Miranda. But when I saw her, I knew. She had recently married James Catesby and though she loved him after a fashion, she was unhappy.”
My head began to spin, my heart leapt in my chest to hear this otherworldly being speak of my parents. It was even more surreal than the fae horses approaching me, nudging me with their muzzles.
“I…I don’t know if I want you to go on.”
Oberon chuckled dryly.
“Of course. I simply wanted you to know that ours was a union of love and respect, not of coercion.”
“Then why was she so afraid?” I saw my mother’s ashen face as I stood before that pile of carrion, my mother laughing nervously as she nailed a horseshoe over the door of every new apartment. Just for a bit of luck, William. Mummy is so silly.
“Because she knew that no matter how far she took you, that you would always be what you are. That one day you would return. She was powerless to stop it. She chose to return to her husband. I did not protest. When she left with you, I was greatly saddened, but I was patient. And my patience has been rewarded.”
“You must give them what you owe,” I said bitterly. “I am that which you are owed.”
Oberon nodded, his eyes betraying a glimmer of excitement.
“And now that you are here, the pact I made with Richard is fulfilled.”
“What about the town, Druwich?”
“A curse is a peculiar thing, William. The longer it sits with its victims, the more difficult it is to discern where the curse ends and the human imagination begins. But they do not matter, now that you are here.”
He mounted one of the horses and gestured to Enbarr. Enbarr approached me with an enthusiastic snort and I climbed upon him with a surprising amount of ease. Oberon had already ridden ahead of us, but I soon caught up with him.
We rode in silence, though a million questions pulsed through my head in every direction, eventually coalescing on the unsettling idea that this creature in front of me was the only family I had left in either the real world or this Otherworld. I was so consumed with this sad realization, that I almost didn’t see that we had stopped. Luckily Enbarr was paying attention.
We were before a great fissure in the ground, a cliff of a lined material that at first glance appeared to be rock. But when I dismounted, I could see that the sides of the cliff could not be so easily defined, and more resembled flesh laced with blue throbbing veins, punctuated by thorns of splintered bone. I gagged as that now familiar putrid stench reached my nose. No bottom was visible save for a sea of pitch black. Oberon looked at the void and I thought I could almost see a hint of fear at the edge of his features.
“For everything there is a price,” he said quietly, as though speaking too loudly would disturb whatever it was lurking at the edge. “Our people, the people humans call the fae, we enjoy certain privileges. We do not suffer old age or sickness, we have the power to bind, the power to pact with humans, and to be the conduits of its consequences. This power comes from Below.”
He gestured to the void with a shudder.
“And the price?” I asked, wary of the answer.
“The Below must be fed.”
I brought the knife down on the neck of the sacrifice, his blood renewing, his blood empowering, his blood…feeding.
“The ancient sacrifices, the humans lured down here, ultimately they arrive at the same destination, don’t they?”
Oberon nodded.
“The humans were never unwilling. We never snatched away children or kidnapped heroes and maidens. In the old days, warriors would fight each other for the honor. To be bled on the sacrificial altar, for their bodies to be fed to the Below. As for the humans who come to the Otherworld, one by one they begin to ask. It begins as a mere flicker in their minds dulled by pleasure. They begin to beg, at first for bits of their flesh to be taken. But it is never enough. The mania will never be satisfied. Only total consumption will do. We always oblige.”
I thought of the man in the tunnel, his eyes glassy, his mouth smiling as though in ecstasy as the fae removed the skin from his hand.
“Our fate is tied to the Below. When it starves, we weaken, when it feeds we strengthen. That is why we need you, William.” He locked his blue eyes with mine and touched my cheek almost tenderly. “The Roman invaders worshiped a god they called Janus. Have you heard of him?”
“The two headed god,” I muttered, remembering a college Classics course.
“Yes. The two headed god, the god of dualities, the god of doors. You are like Janus, William. You who carry the blood of the Earth and the blood of the Otherworld, you who face both above and below. Your blood contains the key, the key to open and close the door between worlds. Only you can open the door, so that we may wander freely once more.”
“So that you can find more victims? I think not.”
He pulled his hand away and shook his head.
“You still do not understand. You too are trapped here, my son. If you do not open the door then this is your eternity as well. I am not so vain to think that you would willingly imprison yourself here with me.”
The world around me suddenly seemed to close in, my chest tightened. I imagined never again venturing beyond the meager woods above, nothing more than a phantom, a prince of ashes and carrion. Oberon’s words rattled in my head, the humans never were unwilling. I thought of the villagers of Druwich, dragging me to the bonfire, thinking nothing of burning me alive. Why should I condemn myself to this prison for eternity for their sake?
“What would you have me do, then? How do I, as you say, ‘open the door’?”
“It needs your blood.”
“How much?”
“You will not die.”
That was not encouraging, but neither was the prospect of being trapped in the Otherworld in the service of…whatever that thing was. Oberon’s words had stirred something within me and I began to formulate a plan, a very shaky, stupid plan. But a plan nonetheless. I stared down into the void, down at the Below and could almost sense a tremor of anticipation palpitating through it. Fear churned my stomach.
I took a deep breath.
“I’ll do it.”
Oberon nodded solemnly.
“When the door opens, you will ride Enbarr through. He’s yours now. A fitting gift, as he is like you, born of fae and mortal.”
I patted Enbarr gratefully.
“Thank you.”
“Your mother loved him,” he said softly. “They were great friends.” I could see that Oberon wanted to say more, but instead steeled himself against further melancholy, perhaps too disquieted by the looming presence of the Below.
I was taken by a group of fae attendants to be “prepared,” which would have felt more ominous had it not included a rather pleasant hot bath. I tried not to think of the Below, I tried not to imagine how it fed, but every time I closed my eyes I could see those fleshy vines, studded with sharpened bones, wrapping themselves around a limb, around a face. I could hear the frenzied laughter of humans begging to be devoured.
They dressed me in a white tunic, finely woven from a material I could not identify, and a leather belt, stamped with an intricate design of interlaced trefoils, and fixed with an empty scabbard. Once I had been dressed, Oberon appeared and the attendants bowed. In his hands was the twisted gold torque that I had seen in my dream and in Richard’s past. He fastened it over my upper arm and stood looking at me for a moment. I almost detected a hint of paternal pride, which considerably moved me, to my great surprise.
With a pang I thought of James Catesby, the man who until only a few days ago I had thought of as my father, how he had loved me without reservation. No, it was Miranda he loved. When she died, what did he do? He abandoned you. He drank himself to death. He didn’t care that you would be alone in the world. I pushed those ugly thoughts aside, pretending that they didn’t come from the deepest, darkest part of my heart.
A fae attendant approached with a mirror and handed it to me with a bow. I did not recognize myself. My hair was shorter and my features less severe, but otherwise… I was one of them.
Oberon handed me a knife, the same small elaborate weapon I used in my dream.
“This is your inheritance,” he said slowly. I placed the knife in my scabbard.
We mounted our horses and processed towards the fissure exposing the Below. The fae were arrayed in their finest clothing, accompanied by their giant, black hounds. We dismounted at the edge. I could detect a faint buzzing in the air, as though an ocean of flies awaited beyond sight, nestled in the blackness beneath.
“Cut at the wrist,” Oberon said.
I balked. If I severed my carotid artery, I would be dead within minutes. Oberon could sense my unease. He took my right arm and extended it, holding it steady. He nodded, another entreaty to trust him that I had no choice but to accept.
I looked up at the false sky and felt its weight upon me, as though at any moment it would give way. As if the Below could sense my fear, the buzzing sound intensified. I unsheathed the dagger and raised it, catching my reflection in the blade. Is this what I have become? Or is this what I have always been? I clenched my jaw, my heart thudding in my throat.
Behind my own frenzied thoughts, came another voice, not from my father beside me, but from the Below. Something soft, but deep, as though it echoed from within my brain tissue, irritating, yet irresistible. Open the door. Open the door.
Oberon tightened his grip as I brought the blade down on my wrist, the pain burning hotly for only a moment before the coldness of shock took over as blood burst forth. As soon as my blood began to drip to the ground, the voice magnified, but the words dissolved into indiscernible noise that was not a voice anymore at all. But I knew it beckoned. It desired more. I began to laugh, unwillingly, as though the sound were being squeezed out of me. Yes, yes, take it. Take it all. Take me.
Just as I began to move my feet forward towards the cliff, I felt Oberon’s fingers close over my wound. The bleeding had ceased. I shook my head, rousing myself from my stupor. The noise was gone, and to my astonishment, the wound had healed at Oberon’s touch. I was still weak, but otherwise unscathed. I picked up the bloodied knife that had fallen from my hand and replaced it in its scabbard.
I heard murmurs from the fae behind us. Oberon took my shoulder and pointed in the distance. There, on the horizon of the Otherworld was a stone archway where none had been before. And through the archway, I could see the barest hint of green grass. The door is open.
The fae were ready, their horses stomping impatiently. I mounted Enbarr and led the procession, with Oberon at the rear. My head was spinning with dizziness from my considerable blood loss. A wave of fear passed over me, as I realized the shaky plan I had formulated earlier had now become a suicide mission.
The door appeared far away, but I had no idea what such a distance meant in the Otherworld. Timing would be key. I subtly nudged Enbarr to pick up the pace, which he obliged. Seeing that there had been no reaction among the fae, I seized the moment and dug my heels into Enbarr’s side, driving him to a full gallop. I risked a glance backwards, the fae stared at me in surprise. I would only have a few moments until they decided to pursue me at the same speed.
My hair whipped across my face as we raced towards the door. I removed the dagger from the scabbard once more and at the glint of the metal, the fae understood what I was about to do. The procession behind me collapsed into a sprint as the fae sped forwards, the hounds howling at the heels of their steeds. The door was close now, I could feel the sweetness of fresh air and I knew that Enbarr felt it too because he began to push himself even faster.
“Steady, my friend,” I whispered, trying to secure my balance as much as possible. I released my breath and brought the dagger down on my left wrist, blood bursting forth immediately. The fae shrieked horrifically. As my blood gushed towards the ground, the opening underneath the archway began to flicker and recede at the edges.
I said that I would open the door. I did not say how long I would keep it open.
The spinning in my head intensified as the blood left my body. With my good hand, I managed to replace the dagger in the scabbard and then gripped Enbarr’s braided mane with all my remaining strength. The Below was with me once more, a crackling, gurgling sound of pleasure emanating from inside my mind. The Below didn’t care about whatever magic my blood carried, whether the door between worlds opened or closed. Human, fae, it was all the same. It fed. It wanted more.
It was hard to focus my eyesight, but I could see the diminishing portal ahead, I felt Enbarr leap through the narrowing hole. We were through. I was falling, my strength failing me. I fell from the horse to the ground with a sickening thud, my shoulder erupting in pain. The portal was closing. I could see the fae, too far away now, their features contorted in fury. But one face remained calm, though sorrowful. Oberon watched me from a distance as the door began to disappear and for a moment, I regretted what I had done. Forgive me, father.
I did not have long to linger in my remorse. Just before the portal vanished, a snarling black shape leapt through. The hound was at my body in an instant, ready to attack. I was verging on unconsciousness, the hound like a specter from a nightmare. Enbarr reared and the hound cowered for a moment, but that was all I needed to remove the dagger with a trembling hand. The beast soon turned its attention back to me, and with every remaining ounce of vitality at my disposal, I thrust the dagger into its chest. It yelped then fell at my side.
I was spinning away, so close to joining the hound in death. I was afraid. I couldn’t move my body.
Then I heard a voice. Not any sort of otherworldly voice, just a human voice, the voice of a woman, though it sounded as though it was echoing from somewhere far away, underwater.
“William?! It’s him. He’s over here!”
Before I drifted away, I heard the crackling of a paramedic’s radio, and glimpsed the face of a girl with auburn hair.
+++
As you may have realized, I did not die, though I would have, had I lain there for only a few more moments. Throughout my lengthy hospital stay, complete with a few blood transfusions, I’ve heard doctors and nurses proclaim that it was a miracle I survived. And I suppose they are right, though being the son of the fairy king likely helped in my healing.
Sarah has been to see me often in the hospital. I know, I know. But she did save my life, after all. We speak for hours, when I’m feeling up to it. She admitted her interest in Druwich wasn’t entirely charitable or anthropological. She had been searching for the fae for years and had gotten swept up with Alan and Barbara’s plans for me after I had arrived. But I believe her when she swears that she never imagined they wished me harm. She even kept my favorite turtleneck!
On the day of my discharge, Sarah brought me some real clothes from home. I’ve only just begun to regain my strength, but even this small piece of normalcy felt good. Of course, there is no such thing as normalcy for me any more, I thought as I examined my face in the mirror of the tiny hospital room bath. I had had several nurses compliment my “distinctive” eyes, the eyes of the fae that stared back at me accusingly.
I reached in my back pocket for a pair of sunglasses, but when I raised my head, my reflection had disappeared and Oberon stood in its stead, his face a mask of composure with anger and sorrow bubbling just below the surface. I gasped.
“H..how?” I stuttered.
“We are bound together, my faithless son.”
“And so we are now enemies,” I said. Oberon laughed mirthlessly.
“Enemies,” he scoffed. “A foolish mortal concept. No, we are not enemies. How could we be when you are my child? That is a bond that can never be cast aside. But you must understand that I am inevitable. Perhaps, not now, but in some century to come, when your human nature has receded so far in the past that I will be your only refuge, know that I will be waiting. I will welcome you tenderly, with open arms. I am patient. This is your inheritance.”
A pit formed in my stomach.
“I understand, father.” The words felt hard and thick on my tongue.
Oberon nodded and he was gone, leaving me alone. I brought my sunglasses to my face with a trembling hand to cover my tears.
+++
I’m back at Catesby House now. Yes, back in Druwich. The people here have changed. I came home to a mound of awkward apology gifts: fruit baskets, baked goods, chocolates, you name it. Sarah has kindly spread the word that I am not to be bothered.
Enbarr is happy in his new temporary home—a local stable that is housing him before I can build one of my own. I don’t have the strength to ride him again yet, though I have been painstakingly overseeing his care from my hospital bed and plan on seeing him as soon as I can.
I learned that shortly after I went to the hospital, Barbara’s husband showed up from seemingly out of nowhere, bewildered, allegedly wondering why he was “so old.” While he has been receiving psychiatric care, Barbara is reportedly overjoyed.
You should be all caught up now. For those of you who have been patiently reading these updates, who have offered me such kind words of support since the time I was just an idiot with a shovel—thank you.
Sarah just put the kettle on. I was about to end this post, when I heard a series of thuds against the door. I groaned at the thought of another tea loaf, and fixed my best polite smile.
I opened the door and gagged. Piled high on my doorstep were the carcasses of rats, birds, mice, and rabbits.
Down the street, a fox sat, watching me intently. He caught my gaze and bowed low before scampering away, disappearing in the waning orange light of sunset.