3

Sam could barely remember the feeling of the sun on his cheeks, though it had only been an hour or so ago that he had been in Pondscombe. Now, the air was thick with mist that lifted the hairs on the back of his neck and raised goosepimples on his arms. An unsettled feeling knotted itself in his stomach.

The river was swollen at the sides and the ground turned to rough pebbles as it reached the water. The back was full of plants, but they were all dead and dry. Nothing living was here.

As soon as he thought it, his eyes made out a shape on the riverbank. A lumpy, lurching shape that he just knew wasn’t human.

He glanced backwards, but couldn’t see where he had arrived through the thick fog. It was as though tendrils of white had wrapped itself around the entrance of the underbrush. Sam forced himself to take a step forward instead. It was too late to back out now.

This was just an errand for the Prince – why was he doing this? This had nothing to do with him.

Coursi’s words came back to him – “the stars say it must be you.”

He almost didn’t realise that someone had said the words aloud. A woman. When he did, he felt his blood turn to ice. The figure on the bank was moving towards him, shuffling slowly like a lion moving in for the kill. Sam was frozen in place – staring with horror at the shape.

“Wh-“ he stopped himself before he used one of his questions, swallowing it down instead.

An old woman emerged from the fog, bent like a question mark in a thick cloak. Her hair hung over her face and she was struggling with a huge washing basket. Her breathe came in gasps and for a moment, Sam forgot where he was and why.

“Would you like some help?”

He had his hands on the rim of the basket when the old woman looked up and the breath was knocked out of him. He was frozen again – because the woman’s eyes were yellow. They were like lamps in the fog with the split pupils of a cat. Her skin had absorbed some of the yellow shine and was wrinkled like old parchment. She looked so much like a creature that Sam expected to see fangs when the woman – no, the faery – smiled. Instead, she had three even more yellowed teeth left.

“Yes, thank you,” she croaked.

Sam reeled backwards, taking the laundry basket with him. It hung between them like a shield. He had known to expect a faery – but he hadn’t known what that would mean. Children didn’t come back from faeries. It wasn’t natural to be this close to one – not when it sent shivers through him like a raging sea.

The fae chuckled at him, then beckoned with a taloned fingernail.

“Come, you can help Bean Nighe wash them,” she said, starting to hobble back along the bank.

Sam looked back, desperately searching for where he had arrived from. The mist was now so thick that all he could see was white.

“Oh, there’s no going back now,” the fae – Bean Nighe, Sam presumed, cackled. “You’ve already asked your first question. You won’t be going until you’ve asked your last.”

Sam wanted nothing more than to drop the washing and run. He didn’t care where. She was trying way too hard to sound ominous.

No, he had to do this. He had to prove that he could do this. For Coursi. For his mother. If only just to show that he was braver than that arrogant Prince Lefrich. Lefrich wouldn’t be shivering like a child.

Lefrich wouldn’t have already wasted one of his questions. He watched the fae’s bony hand pick clothes from the basket – getting much too close to him in the process – and could have kicked himself for being so absentminded.

He took another long breath – it rattled in his lungs – but stopped as the fae gave him a sideways glance. Only her eyes seemed to move.

“Now, now, not so fast,” she said and wagged a finger at him. His gaze focused on the long curve of the nail. “It’s Bean Nighe’s turn to ask now.”

Sam nodded, still holding his breath. What else could he do?

The water was lapping at her bare feet – at her curled toes and yellow nails. It frothed onto Sam’s boots too and he resisted the urge to step away.

“Do you believe those words?” she asked. “Do you believe this is your fate, picked out by the stars, my boy?”

“No,” he spoke quickly. Maybe he should have been hesitant and reserved so that she couldn’t use his words against him, but his urge to leave was greater. He had nothing to hide. “No, I – don’t think fate is responsible for anything. I chose to come.”

Bean Nighe looked at him, though it felt more like she was looking through him. Her face did not move but something changed about it.

“Interesting,” she murmured, pulling more clothes out of the basket. It looked like a guard’s surcoat, but it was hard to tell through the blood. “Interesting that you think about.”

It seemed as though he hadn’t answered rightly. But surely he had chosen – surely, if he really hadn’t wanted to, he wouldn’t have gone?

So why had he gone? Just to prove to Coursi that he was a capable alchemist? To prove Lefrich that he was worth the time? He had a strange feeling that Elexander’s dark eyes and crooked grin came into it.

The fae was scrubbing in silence. Sam realised that she was waiting for him to ask another question and forced his mind to remember Lefrich’s instructions. They were joining a group of knights on the road, and it had seemed to worry the Prince.

“Who will get injured, or – or worse, on our quest?” he asked.

The fae snapped up and seemed ablaze. Her eyes had gone from lamps to a roaring fireplace and Sam hugged the basket closer to him.

“No! No, no, no!” she cried and pointed too close to his face for him to feel comfortable. He stumbled backwards. “You should be protecting everyone, regardless of what an old crone like me says!” She paused, and examined him with a wicked glint in her eye. “For someone who doesn’t believe in fate, you put a lot of faith in my foresight.”

Sam shrugged. She had seen right through him – realised that he was only saying what he had been told to say.

Bean Nighe picked up another surcoat, her eyes not moving from his. She scrubbed at it too and the river began to run rust-red with the blood crusted on it.

“Now.” She spoke with a casual tone of voice. “Would you want the power to change the future?”

It all felt like a trick, but Sam couldn’t figure out the right answer. She would no doubt be able to tell if he was lying – and he had a feeling that wouldn’t end well. But he also felt naked answering such vague questions.

“That power would be too great for anyone,” he spoke too quickly. In truth, it was tempting. But Coursi had always told him to be wary with power. “Who could be so important that they think they can handle the future?”

The fae stayed silent for a long time, so that a lion crest appeared on the surcoat she was cleaning.

“There are no right answers,” Bean Nighe said eventually.

It made him step back. He felt as transparent as glass and he didn’t like it, “please don’t do that.”

“I’m not doing anything.” Her grip on the surcoat loosened, and it floated like a ghost in the current. She cackled at the look on Sam’s face. “You wear your heart on your sleeve, my boy, and it’s hard to ignore.” When Sam’s frown deepened, she cackled again. “It’s not your fault. You never had to be careful. But you will need to be. Soon.” There was a glint in her eye, as if there was a star caught in it. “Soon, you’ll have fae wisdom too.”

He didn’t want it. He would never want that – just the thought of it turned his stomach. Faes were monsters and they were determined to hurt people. He wasn’t like that. Once again, he swallowed and pushed the thoughts away. Brought Lefrich’s haughty expression back into his mind eye. He had missed one chance – he only had one question left and two to choose from.

“How will we find the Selkie Court?”

It was the most practical of the two left.

Bean Nighe pulled linens and skirts from the basket with a more sombre air. It was as if she didn’t want to answer.

“The entrance to the Selkie Court,” she said, slowly. “Lies in the roots of a great tree. The oldest tree in the forest to the south of Tarville. In it’s roots, you’ll find a well. Find a way down,” she gave a malicious giggle. “Without breaking your legs.”

The shivers were back, like waves lapping at the shore. The feeling of dread was getting hard to control. Run, every nerve in his body told him. It didn’t matter where – just run – just get back home and hide under his bed.

“Now for my final question.” There was a pregnant pause. “Would you sacrifice yourself for another.”

“Of course.”

When Bean Nighe cackled, she sounded like a regular old woman. She stood from the river bank, mud coating pale skin.

“You think it’s fair to leave someone grieving over you.”

It was an accusation designed to make Sam squirm. He gritted his jaw so that he wouldn’t. Anger was rising within him now – all these riddles that he couldn’t get right. All the answers that she danced around and wouldn’t give him. She thought she understood everything, with those soul-searching eyes –

That was what it was all about, he realised. Soul-searching. Faes were obsessed with souls. What kind of soul you had determined if you would go missing in the middle of the night.

“That’s not-“ he bite his tongue, instead. No, he was done. He pushed the washing basket back to the fae. “You’ve had your questions and I’ve had mine. Now I’m going.”

“You make it sound like you’ve done me a favour. Let’s not forget who hunted who out,” Bean Nighe called after him as he started to walk away. The mud tried to grasp hold of his boots and the mist tugged at his clothes.

There was the same rage in him that he had heard in Lefrich’s voice when he had talked about faes. About making things better. He understood Lefrich and he didn’t like it.

But at least he could see the hole in the trees that he had tumbled through. He fixed his eyes on it.

“Wait, my boy,” Bean Nighe’s voice called after him. She was squelching through the mud behind him and, despite himself, he forced himself to stop. She was old, after all, and obviously struggling.

“You did very well,” she said and placed a hand on his shoulder. She turned him towards her and he followed, reluctantly. “Most men would have tried to kill me by now.”

She seemed different. Softer around the edges.

Sam stayed silent. He was determined not to give her another word.

“As much as you hate me, you have played my game.” She seemed to be standing straighter. “You answered honestly, even if your questions were not your own.” Her hair didn’t seem so straggly anymore. There were more colours than grey in it, he realised. “I give you my congratulations.”

He was determined not to give her another word, but he felt obligated to mutter a “thanks.”

The fae laughed, but it wasn’t the same toe-curling cackle from before.

“A fae’s congratulations means a wish. A favour from me.”

Sam didn’t want a favour from her. But saying no would be offensive – it would probably result in a curse, so he nodded, instead. He couldn’t think of anything he wanted. He was happy back home and Coursi and his mother were doing fine. They wouldn’t have wanted help from a fae anyway. He didn’t even want help from a fae.

“I guess you could do my washing sometime?”

Bean Nighe laughed, and it was the laugh of a young woman. She was a young woman. Within the space of moments, her hair had become silky and blonde, her skin peachy and her lips rose read. The only indications she was the same woman were the yellow eyes and long nails.

“Of course, boy. Since you were kind enough to help me with mine.”

The reminder almost made Sam wince.

“It was nothing,” he muttered, stepping away. He was so close to the hole in the underbrush. “Bye.”

He hoped he never saw her again.