FOR RUSSELL D.K.
HIGHWAY 256 WAS A COLD, gray line that stretched through the night, splitting the blackness of the woods in two. An hour before dawn the hungry world was waking. A swarm of insects hummed along the paved shoulder. A pheasant, ruffled from sleep, turned a beady eye across the highway and toward the sound. The bird started across the blacktop. Whaaaap!
In a spray of blood and feathers the pheasant was hurled to the side of the road. The man behind the wheel of the passing truck glanced in his rearview mirror. Next to him sat his daughter, hunched down in her seat. She yawned and rubbed her eyes. "What was that, Daddy?"
"Dumb bird," he sighed. "Pheasant, I guess. Never knew what hit it."
Jim McCormack was tired. His son, Charlie, was sick and had spent most of the night throwing up in the bathroom. So Jim had endured the long hours stretched out on the living room couch with a blanket, while his wife tended to the boy. In the dim light Jim had watched the time on the wall clock crawl by, and at 5 AM he sat up, stalked to his daughter's bed, and gave her a shake. "Get up, Anna," he said, "you and me are going hunting."
Anna was not a hunter. She didn't even have a license, and her experience with a shotgun was limited to one botched session at the skeet-shooting range. The gun's recoil had slammed the stock into her chin and sent her crying into her mother's arms. But Jim wanted to go hunting, and he hated to hunt alone. So Anna would have to do.
"Daddy, why are we stopping here?" murmured Anna, when five minutes later her father pulled the pickup onto a dirt road next to a POSTED: NO HUNTING OR TRESPASSING sign.
"Hunting?" her father answered. "We're going hunting."
"But, Daddy, it's posted. No hunting. We can't—"
"We can do whatever we want here," Jim explained. "This is our land. I bought this property yesterday at auction. Twelve hundred acres. Your mother's mad at me. She thinks we can't afford it. But now it's McCormack land, free and clear. Twelve hundred acres of woods, hills, streams, and all the critters that live there. This is the one place on earth we can do whatever we want. So don't mind the sign. From now on, that's for everybody else but us!"
Jim cut the motor, turned off the headlights, and lifted two shotguns from behind the seat. "Zip up your jacket," he said, stepping out of the truck. He pulled some shells from his pocket and slipped them into the trigger mounts of each Remington. Then he handed his daughter a shotgun, and led the way into the woods. "This is your brother's gun," he said. "Treat it like it was your own."
The forest was much darker than the highway had been. Entering the dense undergrowth, as vines, low-hanging branches, and cobwebs brushed their cheeks, Anna and her father moved slowly into the woods. They made their way by instinct more than sight, by chance more than vision, the girl staying close to her father's side. Their breath came out in puffs of vapor, instantly swallowed by darkness. "Daddy, it's too dark," the girl whispered. "Where are we going? I can't—"
"The sky's getting brighter," her father interrupted. "Look up past the trees, over the hill, you'll see."
Anna looked, but remained unconvinced. "Oh!" she cried, stumbling on a fallen branch, and grabbing her dad's sleeve.
The pair wandered on for perhaps a quarter of a mile. The sky was brightening, just as Jim said it would, and a fiery splinter of sun edged up over the horizon. They trudged a little farther into the uninviting heart of the forest. But neither Jim nor Anna recognized the moment when they stepped across the boundary of their own world, and entered another. It was a place where few human feet had ever trod. Even in daylight the rupture looked like little more than a blur at the edge of sight. But now it was growing, shape-shifting, a gaping hole in the rugged density of the forest. It was a gash in the face of time, and space, and everything that was real. The trees on the other side of the opening might have appeared somehow taller, the air might have had a sweeter smell, but it was, at first, too subtle a difference to tell. Anna and her father would never realize that, as they stepped across the void, they had left the world they knew completely behind.
Anna heard the sound first. It was like singing. The voice was thin and high, but it was a real voice. Not a bird, not the whisper of the wind. "And through sweet seasons spreads our joy, o'er meadow, copse, and hedge, for thee, and this, our Woodland Home, undying love I pledge."
"Daddy, did you hear that?" Anna murmured.
"Ssssh," hissed her father. "I think I see something up ahead."
There was a dim flickering of light. It was like the glow of distant candles, or fireflies, untold scores of them. "Hold up," Jim whispered, and reached an arm out to stop his daughter.
Suddenly the deer were visible. At first they were no more than ghosts, dreamy mounds of vapor, and a heartbeat later they were solid and real. There was an entire herd of them, albinos, with gleaming white coats, facing away into a clearing. Beyond them was a tower, nearly twenty feet high. Tiny creatures of flame danced on the spreading tips of antlers, which stretched out from the skeleton of the structure. The tower was wreathed in flowers. Little figures stood at the tower's apex and descended stairs along its side, joining a vast crowd. Not one of the beings would have reached higher than a human knee.
Jim McCormack held his breath and stared; yet all he saw were the deer, who were there to witness the Faerie wedding of Alfheim. Blind to the alien world and the ceremony taking place, he nudged his daughter's elbow. "I'm going to get the big one," he hissed.
Jim slid the barrel forward, closing the action, and squeezed the trigger. With a loud bang and a burst of sulfur the twelve-gauge shotgun loosed its fury. Anna, startled, dropped her own gun and pressed her hands to her ears.
The mighty Deer King turned his head as death sped through an open space between his antlers. At the top of the wedding tower the Elfin groom stepped forward to sweep his beloved out of harm's way, and the slug tore him in half. His emerald-colored Blood gushed out, and his body toppled from the back of the tower. Pandemonium erupted as the Faerie Folk snatched up their young and ran from the scene of horror. The deer leapt and scattered in every direction. The hunter raced forward. He pumped the shotgun, ejecting the shell, and dropped another into the slot. "Get your gun, Anna, come on!" Jim shouted. "Let's bring home a trophy! Nobody's going to believe what we saw today!"
When Jim reached the center of the clearing he bumped into something and fell. As he got to his feet he caught a brief glimpse of a toppled tower. Fire Sprites were leaping from the carved ramparts and disappearing in the air. Jim shook the vision from his head and charged after the buck. "Daddy!" Anna called with tears in her eyes, stumbling after him. "Wait!"
Suddenly something small, swift, and silvery made its way around Anna's legs. The creature was muttering words in a language Anna had never heard before. With her next breath her eyes rolled up in her head and she slipped to the ground. Though still conscious, the girl lay paralyzed, unable to move.
Anna's father was in hot pursuit of the deer. He was completely unaware of the Faerie Folk scurrying toward a slight bulge in a ravine just ahead. Down a short flight of moss-covered steps, the skin of a translucent tube, five or six feet in diameter, lay exposed. It resembled a root, or the ribbed back of a gigantic white earthworm. The Faerie Folk called it the Cord. Invisible to Human eyes, the Cord was part of a network that spread along the surface of the earth. It wove in and out of the soil, binding their world together like arteries that pulse blood through a living body. The Faerie Folk knew how to enter the Cords where they rose out of the ground and travel on the winds that blew inside them. Now the Cord was their means of escape. As the first Elves, Trolls, Pixies, Gnomes, and Brownies appeared, they used their fingernails to slice through the Cord's thin, rubbery surface. Widening the slit, they bent into the opening to see if the path was clear, and slipped inside. Their bodies hurtled like storm-tossed leaves through the tunnel. The Cord would give them passage to a safer place, somewhere, anywhere, far away.
Ladies-in-waiting guided the Elfin Princess Asra down the green carpet. With her gown torn, and a shoe missing from her bruised foot, Asra knelt at the entrance, where guards held the slit open for the royal family to enter. Her parents hovered at her side, ready for the journey to the kingdom of Ljosalfar. This was the homeland of the dead Prince, and where the Elves of Alfheim would stay until it was safe to return. "Where's your other shoe?" the Queen cried.
"I — I don't know!" answered Asra.
The Queen moaned. "Alfheim brides have worn the diamond shoes for centuries. Without them a curse will fall upon our house. We can't leave here without the pair!"
"N-n-nonsense," stammered King Thorgier, Asra's father. "We'll send scouts to find the shoe and b-b-bring it home."
A distant cousin of the groom, Prince Macta, scurried from behind. "Wait!" he cried, clutching at the broken feathers of Asra's bridal train. "Princess, you needn't be afraid. I'm here to protect you!"
The silver-cloaked Mage, the spiritual leader of the Elves of Alfheim, appeared at the Princess's side. "Asra's not your responsibility. In Ljosalfar she'll be well cared for. 'Tis best you wait at the appropriate Cord for the rest of your Clan to gather, then travel north to Helfratheim."
"This way, Macta," said the monk Jardaine.
Anger spread across the Elf's face. "As you say," he muttered, stepping back.
While most Faerie Folk rode the winds inside the Cord like birds that sail on a breeze, royal families traveled in elaborately carved gondolas. A fleet was tethered inside the Cord, waiting for the departure of Princess Asra and her entourage. Macta watched from a distance. The Princess, whose love he desired with all of his twisted heart, slipped inside. Then the ropes that held the gondolas were released, and they sped away.
Faerie Folk always exercised caution when traveling the Cord. They waited for the precise moment it was safe to enter, for collision meant certain death. Jim McCormack knew nothing as he charged ahead. He tripped and fell against the exposed Cord, the end of his rifle coming down hard and tearing a hole in the membrane. The man's legs were quickly sucked inside. Screaming and kicking, he struggled against the current of wind, but it was too late. He never saw the shape speeding toward him from the milky distance. Black, with red eyes that grew wide in surprise, the Gremlin was moving too fast to change course. In a bone-crunching crash the creature collided with the hunter. The ground was showered with Blood and chunks of flesh, and the rest was swept away in the Cord. "Stay back, my children, stay away from the Blood!" the Mage cried out.
Macta lingered nearby, even as the crowd dispersed. When he was certain no one was looking he knelt and dipped his finger in a puddle on the ground. Then he moved the finger to his lips. He had never tasted blood before. Such an act was expressly forbidden; the Elves harbored an ancient fear of spilled blood and the power of contagion. And yet, Macta thought, just because something is forbidden, that does not mean it is impossible. Macta had spent his entire life doing things that were forbidden, and he believed that nothing was impossible, if one wanted it badly enough. The Mage raised her hands and cried out in a trembling voice. "Listen to me, children of Alfheim. Today we have borne witness to a tragedy. One of the Humans that entered our realm is dead, and I have cast a spell over the other so that she will do us no harm. Princess Asra and her family are safely on their way to Ljosalfar. Prince Udos, however, has gone to join his ancestors in the Spirit World."
Jardaine and the other monks made an effort to contain the crowd, and to direct their attention to the Mage. It was important that the Elves understand what was expected of them. "Though we are out of immediate danger, the ordeal ahead of us is only just beginning," said the Mage. "We must pack our belongings to leave. Alfheim is unclean; our land is contaminated, fouled with Human and Faerie Blood. Tradition says that three hundred and sixty moons must pass before the Earth has been cleansed and it is safe for us to return."
"NO!" the Elves sobbed, falling to the ground. The mighty oaks of Alfheim represented their Motherland, the only home most of them had ever known. "Where will we go?"
"Don't despair," soothed the Mage. "The Elves of Ljosalfar will take us in. After our time in exile has passed, we shall return. Time heals all wounds, it cleans even the foulest corruption." The Mage gestured toward the clearing where the unconscious girl lay. "But before we go, this Human must be removed from our Sacred Land. All must help. Take leaves from the branches of the oak to keep your fingers from touching her flesh or clothing. The leaves will protect you from contamination while we move her body."
"Is she dead?" someone cried from the crowd.
"Not dead," answered the Mage, "but entranced. Justice must be served. We will put her to rest at the bottom of the stream beyond the grove, and there she'll lie as long as water flows over her open eyes. With my enchantment she'll watch the clouds go by, and see the long years pass. She won't die, but neither will she truly live. She'll have an eternity to consider the damage her kind has done to us."
So the girl was lifted from the forest floor, delivered to the bank of the stream, then rolled into the icy water. The Mage went to the side of a young Troll who towered over the waiting crowd. Tomtar, as the Troll was known, bent over as the Mage whispered in his pointed ear. Tomtar nodded. It was an honor to do the Mage's bidding, and he agreed to stay close by the stream and keep watch over the girl.
Next the dead Prince's corpse was wrapped in cloth salvaged from the celebration tables. The monks pieced together a bier from the wreckage of the tower. Then the Fire Sprites assembled along the platform for the cremation, burning with fierce rage, and sadness, and love, until all that was left of Prince Udos was ash. Silently the Elves went to gather their things. They filed through the woods, and disappeared into the Cord. One day they would return, when time had cleansed Alfheim of the stain of Blood, and the shock from the disaster had settled into numb acceptance. But for now, and for many years to come, the forest was left to the birds, the squirrels, the deer, and the lonely whistle of the wind through the trees.
