Seelie Maid

And then, that evening
Late in the summer the strange horses came.
We heard a distant tapping on the road,
A deepening drumming; it stopped, went on again
And at the corner changed to hollow thunder.
We saw the heads
Like a wild wave charging and were afraid.
We had sold our horses in our fathers’ time
To buy new tractors. Now they were strange to us
As fabulous steeds set on an ancient shield
Or illustrations in a book of knights.
We did not dare go near them.

from The Horses by Edwin Muir

Everyone said that she’d be found down in the Kellylands; but they’d been searching for an hour now, and there was no sign of her.

“Don’t like this place,” Haunt said for the hundredth time, looking about at the wasteland with a scowl.

“Who does?” Sorry replied irritably. “Even they don’t like it here.”

She indicated the haggard, dirty people scattered about, foraging amongst the ancient middens, squabbling in their half-built shanties. Stunted gums provided a little shade here and there, where squalling babes cried and older children sat, throwing stones at passer-bys. They passed a little creek, with refuge floating about, where pigs snuffled and rolled.

Some of the people stared at them curiously as they walked through the place; others gestured rudely, or looked at them, afraid, and moved off. They looked different; they both stood tall, chins raised, their dark hair pulled back neatly from their faces. Sorry wore a long coat, and knee-length boots, both of which would be worth more silver than any of these folk would have ever seen. Even if they’d been dressed in rags, though, there was something that drew one’s gaze to them; whether it was Sorry’s arresting blue eyes, or the flash of power in Haunt’s darker pair. A few made to move towards the pair, but hesitated; finally a large tattooed man approached them, resting a blade lightly on his palm.

“What’sit, then?” he asked, stepping close. “Eh?”

“We’re looking for Maidlin,” Sorry replied politely. “We’ve got some work for her.”

“I’m knows ‘er, that Maidie,” the man nodded. “Cost ye, tha.”

Sorry rolled her eyes. If she dared show a single piece of silver, the pair of them would be mobbed. It was the Kellylands, after all, named after the notorious bushranger. And if they thought she didn’t know better than that . . .

“I think,” she began slowly, “that you will tell us where Maidlin is, without any further extortion on your part. And I think that you will do it now.”

“Oh, ho. Ye think so, do ye?” the man scoffed, then closed his mouth hurriedly as a slight pressure was placed upon his arm, causing him to drop his blade into Haunt’s outstretched hand. “Oy! Howde do tha?”

Sorry shrugged, releasing the pressure. “Do you want me to show you again?”

“Na, na. Tha Maidie, she be mountainwards, four, five bachies thatway,” he muttered, stepping back nervously.

Haunt grinned, then looked down at the blade. Suddenly he paled, dropping the weapon on the ground. Sorry looked over at him sharply, and saw that his hand had come up in blisters.

“Hide that,” she hissed. “If he notices . . .”

But the man was too busy picking up the weapon from the dust to see what the iron in it had done to Haunt’s hand. If he had seen, all would have been lost. For those who were human could not be damaged by a touch of iron; only wights, strange immortal beasts and spirits who shared the land with people. And it was here in the Kellylands that most of the Hunters, who went after wights, were gathered and trained. Haunt, and Sorry too, would have been destroyed.

Then again, they were on their way to find the best Hunter around. That in itself was foolhardy. Sorry generally liked foolhardy, however.

“Does it sting?” she asked as they moved cautiously mountainward. “Here – put your hand in my coat pocket. There’s a little jar, with some ointment –“ She grinned, as Haunt took advantage of the intimate contact, and she pinched him. “That feel better?”

“Much,” he replied, grinning back. “Now what did that man say – bachies –“

“Houses, he meant,” Sorry explained. “They’ve got their own dialect, these people.”

“I’d noticed,” Haunt replied. “They look the same as your lot – just poorer and dirtier.”

Sorry nodded, suddenly ashamed. Haunt looked exactly like a man – well, a particularly handsome and well-built man, she amended – but he was not. And so he could not share the shame she felt at her own good-fortune when looking about at these, who by some accident of birth suffered hunger and sickness where she was gifted with health and plenty.

“Four or five houses mountainward, he said . . .” she repeated thoughtfully, looking up.

The Kellylands were abandoned wastelands for a reason – they were flat plains, ringed about by the mysterious Blue Mountains. It was from there, so everyone believed, all the wights came . . . after all, what else but magic could create that strange blue haze, when all the trees were a very ordinary green?

No one dared live in the mountains, and most people tried to live as far from its shadow, even its sight, as possible. These poor Kellylanders had no choice, living in the place which the wealthier folk had deserted. So they were never puzzled when one of their babes quickly sickened and died, or a young man went missing, or a old woman was found dead, a look of fear on her face. If anyone was likely to be taken by a wight, it would be those living closest to them; it would be the Kellylanders.

Sorry had been brought up to shiver at the sight of the mountains, and to utter a little chant of protection. But nowadays she felt herself wondering more at their beauty than their supposed malevolence.

“Sorry?” Haunt broke into her thoughts, pressing her hand. “I think we’ve found her.”

Sorry brought her eyes down from the mountains to the shack in front of her. It was guarded by two burly men; it was that which had alerted Haunt. They had vicious expressions on their faces, and iron bars in their hands.

“Get back a little, Haunt,” Sorry murmured, tossing her head a little. “Behind me, so she can’t see your eyes.”

Haunt obeyed, turning his head away from the hut, but keeping himself at the ready nonetheless.

“This is Maidlin’s place?” Sorry asked, in a cold clear voice. “Please tell her Soren is here to see her.”

There was no reaction; except that one of men curled his lip a little, in derision.

Sorry shrugged, and stepped forward. The men brought their iron bars down immediately, but she was too quick, crossing her hands over and grabbing each wrist, bending them so the men howled, and dropped their weapons.

The effect was immediate. A girl pushed out of the shanty, kicked the two men groaning on the dirt with disdain, and looked directly at Sorry.

“What’dye want?”

Sorry had heard all that had been said about Maidlin, but had promised herself that she would not react. It was true, though. The girl had green eyes. Such a thing had scarcely been seen before . . . golden hair, too, though it was as dirty as her clothes and hung limply around a rather grubby face. Her voice was weary and suspicious; it was though she was old, older than anyone in the whole land. But Sorry was sure the girl held fewer years than she herself.

“We need to talk to you, Maidlin. I’m –“

“I’m heard what ye said.” Then she looked over Sorry’s shoulder at Haunt. “’Oos ‘e?”

“He’s mine,” Sorry answered quickly, looking back with an anxious movement. “He’s – I call him Haunt. It’s kind of a joke.” And, she added to herself, because his loveliness had haunted her from the first moment she’d seen him.

“’E’s chockful of magic, that one,” Maidlin’s eyes were hard with suspicion.

A wide grin suddenly broke over Sorry’s face.

“He is indeed.”

Maidlin turned a more respectful gaze back to Sorry. “Ay, an ye must be right powerful to bring a wight to tha Kellylands. What’ye be needin’ wi’ me?”

Sorry looked around. “Can we talk somewhere privately?”

Maidlin’s eyes grew dark. “Ye think I’m be takin’ ye in me bachie, wi’ a word on yours? Ha, an ye think I’m right stupid.”

“Not your bachie, then,” Sorry said desperately. “But somewhere?”

Maidlin nodded. Without a word she started walking briskly mountainward. Sorry tugged on Haunt’s arm and hastened after the girl, wondering where they were going. She knew that there were most likely a thousand different charms on the little bachie, and inviting a wight into the place would break them all. Sorry grinned a little. She wondered whether Maidlin thought she could be a wight, too.

They headed out through the plain towards the trees which marked the rise mountainward. There was a little path, and they followed its twists and turns until they came across a small clearing, with a few stones and a fire. Maidlin stood there, watching.

“Nice place,” Haunt said genially, settling down on a large stone. He waved an arm to indicate the view over the Kellylands. “You can keep an eye on it all without being too disturbed by the noise, and the – er – smell.”

“Oh, shut up!”Sorry hissed, sitting down beside him, but Maidlin simply looked perplexed.

“Ye’ve brought tha wight ‘ere for me t’kill?”

Haunt choked, and Sorry jumped up.

“No. If you harmed him at all, I would have to kill you.”

“Try t’kill me, ye mean,” Maidlin muttered, with a curious smile on her face. “Die for a wight?” She shook her head, and then turned her gaze away from Haunt, as though trying to rid him from her thoughts. “Yer name be Soren?”

“Yes,” Sorry replied. “I was told you were the best Hunter.”

Maidlin’s nod was cautious. “What ye be hunting?”

“We don’t know what it is,” Sorry replied, moving forward a little in her enthusiasm. She saw the girl flinch, and settled back again. “It’s the strangest beast . . . like a dragon, a worm, all scaly with claws and teeth and poisonous breath – but it also has a little crest like a rooster, and wings like one too.”

Maidlin’s eyebrows rose a little wonderingly. “An where d’ye see such a thing?”

“We were across the river, once. There was a small place – I knew it once. A grove of trees, a small pool. It’s all poisoned now, rotting, foul-smelling. We followed the poison to its source, and discovered the beast.” Haunt shook his head. “It was so huge . . . I’ve never heard of anything like it.”

Maidlin got up then, and headed back to the path. “Nor me. Sounds more like t’story some wight’d tell t’lure a girl off. Who goes ‘yond the river? Leave’t there.”

“We would, if it would stay,” Sorry said, rising also. “But the beast is on the move. It could poison the whole land, if we let it.”

Maidlin hesitated, but kept walking. “I’m telling ye, I’m know not. An yet –“ She turned her head back to the pair. “I’m knowing someone tha could help. Bide a day nor two. I’m seeing ye again.”

And she was gone.

Maidlin kicked out the rogues who she’d hired more out of pity than need for protection and stayed out, by a fire that evening.

There was something odd about the pair, and it wasn’t just that one of them was a wight. There was something about the woman, too . . .

It wasn’t as though she didn’t know those people, in the Grandlands. Hiding from the mountains in their villas by the sea, hoping the small hills would protect them. Storing up all their wealth, and yet calling on the ragged folk for help whenever the smallest goblin crossed their paths. Cowards.

She didn’t seem cowardly, though. What kind of people went beyond the river? What kind of people followed a beast to its lair? Well, she knew that not all Grandlanders lacked courage, after all. She’d met Regan.

Those Grandlanders had been losing children for a whole month, by the small creek that fed their harbour. First they thought it was drownings, but then the livers kept floating back to shore . . .

She’d been summoned out there, for a good price, to discover what kind of wight haunted their creek, and to get rid of it. But she knew, of course, and scorned those Grandlanders. What kind of people didn’t teach their children about the sticky-skinned Each Uisge? The shape-changing wight that sometimes looked like a horse, sometimes a bird, sometimes a man – and that stole away people to eat, leaving just their livers behind.

She waited one moonless night for the creature to appear. She sat on the shore, in full view, listening to the water lap and wondering over the foolishness of the Grandlanders. Then a young man appeared, from her right, behind a clump of bushes.

He was tall, fair, and dressed in rich clothing, with a rough beard. She knew the Each Uisge spoke in riddles, and if he could not best you, would destroy himself in fury. One of the many things she had learned was how to outshine a wight in riddling, for it worried many of them.

“What does a girl do, when the moon won’t show?” he began.

Maidlin laughed to herself. “Light a candle an make it glow,” she replied, and then remembered to add her own. “Though’n if t’candle won’t light –“

“Kindle a fire, there’s nothing so bright.” So now they were in earnest. “Still, if it should rain . . .”

“Go home, an come ye back not again.” It was a warning, but the wight didn’t move. “For n’ when it clears –“

“There’ll be nothing left for you but tears.” Now he was threatening. “I’ll . . .”

But whatever words he was about to say were drowned out by the drumming of hooves. Maidlin turned just in time, and leapt wildly out of the way as a great horse leapt out of the water towards her. She grabbed her iron blade and plunged it into his great belly, rolling backwards when the beast reared up, screamed, and died.

“Are you all right?”

The young man ran towards her, avoiding the body of the sticky-skinned beast. He was also laughing.

“To think we’ve been spending half the night riddling one another, each thinking the other a wight!”

She remembered thinking that he had looked too lovely to be human.

“Ye be Grandlander? I’m not knowing any Grandlander Hunters.”

“You’re right.” And he looked a little sad. “Few Grandlanders care to learn about wights. They prefer to leave the danger . . .”

“ . . . to us Kellylanders,” Maidlin snorted, pulling herself up. “Aye, and if they lose a few Hunters, what’s it matter?”

“It would matter to me,” he told her seriously. He’d invited her, then, back to his home – said he had a lot of ancient writings about wights. But she did not want to be beholden to any Grandlander.

Suddenly she realised what had jolted her about the visitors that day. The woman had eyes as blue as Regan’s own.

She sighed. It was best, then, if she went with the strangers and visited Regan again. Sometimes she wondered why she didn’t let the wights wipe out all the Grandlanders. It’d be far more peaceful.

“All better?” Sorry asked, tying up the bandage on Haunt’s hand. She brought it up to her mouth for a kiss.

“Is now,” he told her, grinning. He moved over to the window and looked out. From their little cabin perched between branches of an enormous gum tree, they could see the lights along the shoreline like gems in a giant necklace.

Sorry lit a candle and came over to join him. “Pretty enough – from a distance,” she said.

“You sure you’ve never dreamed of having a house down there, like those Grandlanders?”

“I’m sure,” Sorry smiled, pulling the shutters close and leading Haunt over to the circular bed in the middle of the small room. The cabin was only large enough for a bed, a table, and two chairs, but as Sorry said, that was all that they needed.

“Maybe – maybe I shouldn’t have come with you today,” Haunt said slowly, as Sorry placed the candle on a chair and tugged off her clothes. “Maidlin didn’t trust you, not with me there.”

“How could she have seen me without you? You’re part of me,” Sorry replied simply. She waited for his answering smile, then added. “Not the hugest part, but –“

He growled at that, and pulled her down, his fingers finding the most ticklish spot on her ribs. “Now what would an honest woman be doing with a wight?”

Sorry thought about telling him, but she could see he was still anxious about that day. “You’re no wight,” she told him, settling herself beside him on the bed. “Those wispy, malevolent things that can be destroyed with a curse? That isn’t you.” She laid a gentle hand on the side of his face. “You’re as ancient as the stars. There’s no words for one like you.”

“You woke me, you know. If you hadn’t come to that cave as a girl –“

Sorry remembered. She had been wild with grief for her brother, and had run away, right away from any Grandlander home where sympathy could be found. She’d crossed the river, forgetting all the stories she’d been told – and had ended up sheltering from a great storm inside a cave.

“All that anger, and grief and sorrow – your passion woke me.” Haunt went on. “It still does.” He kissed her as gently as he had the very first time.

She had been startled when a man appeared behind her in the cave, but he introduced himself quite matter-of-factly, building up a fire, and slowly teasing out of her the reason for her tears. Then he’d told her to go home. She wouldn’t have followed advice from anyone else; but she obeyed him, if only because he promised they would meet again.

It had been at about their third visit that she realised he wasn’t human. They still weren’t sure what he was, except that he couldn’t be hurt by ordinary things the way she could. It probably meant, he explained to her once, that he wouldn’t die. She hadn’t understood at that point why his eyes looked so sad when he said that.

She had gone away for a year, after that. Her family moved away from sad memories and the shadow of the mountains. But while she was away she thought about his eyes, and when she understood she had to return.

It had taken a while to persuade him to allow her to love him.

“Do you think Maidlin will help us?” Haunt asked her, moving a lock of dark hair from her face.

“There was something about her – something trustworthy,” Sorry said slowly. “She must have had a hard life. But it’s as though she’s still searching for . . . hope.”

Then she rolled over onto her stomach and moved closer to him. “I think she’ll help.” She touched her mouth gently to his. “Let’s not talk any more about her tonight.”

“Let’s not,” Haunt agreed hoarsely, meeting her open mouth with the tip of his tongue, sighing at its soft warmth. He could kiss her all night. In fact, he decided, he probably would.

Maidlin felt restless and awkward, and wished she had simply led Sorry and Haunt to Regan’s home, and left them there. She had had no idea that it would be so large and sumptuous, leaving her feeling so out of place.

Even that Grandlander pair had seemed over-awed by the large stone dwelling-place, although Regan had looked embarrassed at their admiration, and had murmured something about family homes. He had been proud enough of his library, however. Maidlin had rarely seen a book, let alone shelves containing thousands. And it seemed Regan knew the contents of almost every one.

He’d chosen a few from around the room, and had settled them all at the table to flick through them, trying to find the beast the pair had described. He’d placed food and drink before them – simple bread and cheese, with wine, but of the finest quality. It was the first time Maidlin had felt her torn trousers and old shirt inappropriate. She shrugged irritably. What did it matter, what these Grandlanders thought of her?

“That’s it,” Sorry leant over the richly decorated tome with excitement. “That’s what we saw in the cave, isn’t it, Haunt?”

Haunt nodded. “What’s it say?”

“It’s called a basilisk,” Regan told them, reading the small script beneath the picture. “Rather an odd creature – it’s born when a serpent winds itself about a chicken’s egg.”

“Its poison must seep into the growing animal, changing it,” Sorry mused. “And how is it killed? Words, like other wights?”

But Maidlin shook her head. “Na, tis no wight.”

“She’s right, I’m afraid,” Regan said regretfully. “It isn’t like those strange ghostly things. It’s a monster, plain and simple, and has to be killed in the same way.”

“Like t’dragon.”

“Mmm,” Regan answered abstractly, and looked down at the book again. But Maidlin was watching him.

“Twas ye tha killed yon dragon, na?”

Sorry jerked up at that. “That dragon – the one that was terrorising the land about five years ago? You destroyed it? I heard the one who did that died.”

“My brother, yes,” Regan said shortly, and Sorry bit her lip. Haunt moved his hand over to hers.

“An yet ye live,” Maidlin spoke quietly, and when Regan looked up he saw she looked at him speculatively. “Ye be no Hunter. Na, yer t’dragonslayer.”

There was a short silence, then Haunt laughed awkwardly. “The Hunter and the Slayer. A fine pair.”

Regan grinned then, and gave a short rough laugh. “Indeed. But I think I’ve learnt a lesson or two since then. In fact –“ And he looked at the three cautiously. “I think I’ve learned where these strange wights came from.”

Sorry’s brow wrinkled. “Came from? What do you mean?”

“These magical beasts haven’t always lived amongst us, you know,” Regan told them, gesturing excitedly. “Not if you believe these books! Once those mountains were as innocuous as the sea – and the rivers held nothing more terrible than fish. Yes, and people lived in every part of this land, without fear.”

Maidlin laughed at that. “An why? There be enough space for us all, right here. How’d people be getting their fish, right far away?”

“Ah, you see, that’s the answer!”

Sorry raised an eyebrow, looking back at Haunt – but he was watching Regan with interest.

Regan returned to the table with another load of books, and opened them wide.

“In those days, people could speak to each other, even if they were miles apart. Even if there was a sea between them! And if they wanted fresh fish from the ocean, it would be brought to them. If they wanted to hear music, or a tale told, why, that could happen whenever they wanted, too!”

“But – how?” Sorry asked. “Did they have such great magic, then?”

“No magic at all,” Regan told her seriously. “There were no wights, even. In fact, the people did not believe magic existed.”

Haunt frowned. “So what was the power behind this strange world, then?”

“Machines,” Regan said triumphantly.

The three stared at him, perplexed.

“They are – were – things, as solid as a table, as real and as lifeless as a chair. But they could perform wonders. Ordinary people built them, you know. As ordinary as any one of us. And yet – they changed the whole world,” Regan sat down, suddenly exhausted by his own fervour. “You see, there were wights long, long ago. But they left when the machines came.”

“You’re saying those – machines – left the world somehow, and the wights came back?”

“Yes,” Regan replied. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. They made mechanical spirits of their own, so the wights were unnecessary, and faded away. But something happened. Something terrible happened, so that all the machines were destroyed, and the knowledge of their building died too.”

“An so t’wights came back,” Maidlin finished coolly, tilting her head to look at the odd pictures in Regan’s book. “So ye want t’make tha machines, now, tis right?”

Regan nodded slowly. “That’s my dream. If I can begin to build them, then there will be no more dragons, and no more brothers need die.”

Sorry wondered why the deep sadness beginning to stir inside her was less for the death of Regan’s brother, and more for the going of the dragon.

When Regan walked them through the rose garden back to the front gate, Haunt drew Sorry back a little.

“Give me some time with him alone,” he requested in a low voice. “There’s some things I need to discover.”

Sorry nodded, and when Regan said his goodbye, took Maidlin’s arm, and walked with her to the street outside, leaving Haunt.

Maidlin looked rather surprised at Sorry’s close touch, but she didn’t shake her off.

“D’ye think Regan’s mad, then?” she asked slowly, as they headed through the Grandlander town.

Sorry laughed. “No – he could well be right, I suppose. Who knows? It was a long time ago.”

“Well, d’ye think he’ll help ye kill tha – what’d he call it?”

“Basilisk,” Sorry replied thoughtfully. “I don’t know. Whether his earlier bout with the dragon changed him –“

“He’s no coward,” Maidlin flared.

“Not changed him like that,” Sorry explained, wondering at Maidlin’s heated tone. “But – some people don’t like to kill.”

She remembered someone had had to explain that to her, too, once. She loved to fight, loved the passion of it, the feel of her body moving, the triumph when she won. But not everyone felt like that.

“Mam! Where’s me mam?”

Sorry looked up to see a little girl, just ahead of them, sobbing into a handkerchief.

“Are you lost?” she asked, moving forward. The little girl stepped back in terror.

“Where’s me mam? Waaahh! I want me mammy!” she cried out, and began to run.

“Don’t be feared – we’ll help –“ Sorry called, and clutching Maidlin’s hand rushed after the child.

She always seemed to be just ahead – crying, looking most pitiful, but dashing away just before Sorry could grab her. The surrounding streets seemed to fade away, until they were in open country, with the little girl always just out of reach. All Sorry could think of was that she needed just one more step -

Finally the little girl dashed behind a tree and seemed to disappear altogether.

“What – but – where’s she gone?”

Maidlin was shaking her head. “Ah, I’m a fool, indeed – that be a hob, or a boggart, or some trickster wight. No, they mean no harm, just playing the fool with folk. An I’m one, for not seeing such straight away.”

“And now we’re lost,” Sorry stated, looking around. They had run right out of the Grandlander town, into the surrounding forest. “Well, I suppose we’d best find high ground, and see what we shall see.”

Maidlin snorted. “Ye looking for a hill about tha place? For –“

But Sorry was looking for no such thing. Instead she leapt, landing on a firm branch of a tree above. Maidlin watched, open-mouthed, as she climbed up higher and higher, until she was in the very crown of the tree. Then she jumped down just as easily, nodding her head.

“We’re not far from your home –the Kellylands. It’s due south,” she said with some relief.

They walked together quietly, until Sorry cleared her throat.

“So then – not all wights are malevolent?”

Maidlin looked up at her. “Na, there be plenty harmless ones; those brownies, pixies, those river nixies . . .”

“And Haunt,” Sorry said heavily. “I hope that’s what they’re talking about, Regan and he.”

“Yer Haunt. Has he gifts, then? Like – prophecy?”

Sorry looked at Maidlin with a small smile. “You mean what he said about the Hunter and the Slayer? No, it’s just the two of you look fine together.”

Maidlin shook her head crossly. “Na! He be Grandlander – a prince amongst Grandlanders, too, an I’m –“

“I think you may be a princess amongst Kellylanders,” Sorry said softly. “So perhaps it is not so odd. After all, Maidlin, my true love is a wight.”

Maidlin was quiet, then.

“He be no wight,” she said finally. “Though I’m knowing not what –“ Then she stopped.

“What is it?” Sorry asked – then looked at Maidlin closely. She had gone quite pale.

“I’m hearing t’sound on t’hunting horn,” she whispered, then turned and looked back over the hills.

Coming over the hills towards them was the wildest, most frightening sight Sorry had ever seen. A pack of black dogs, with fiery red eyes, amongst riders of the like she had barely imagined. And leading the horde . . .

“What – what is that thing?”

“Nuckelavee.”

“There was something else,” he began, when Regan turned back to him. “Something I’d rather talk to you about alone.”

Regan nodded, and they walked about the enclosed garden, set with roses and waratahs and small ponds flashing with brightly coloured fish.

“There’s so much in those books of yours about wights, and beasts, too.” He looked at the man directly. “I wondered if there’d be anything of me.”

Regan paused. “I thought I sensed magic about you. But you don’t know –“

“I know nothing,” Haunt told him. “And I want to know everything.”

They went back into the library, where Haunt told him everything he remembered.

“You keep saying ‘woken’; so you feel as though you have lived before?” Regan asked curiously.

“I know it,” Haunt replied firmly. “Though don’t ask me how.”

Regan laughed. “You could be an enchanted prince, I suppose . . .” He headed over to the bookshelf. “Or a young man taken off into fairyland for a thousand years, like Tam.”

But Haunt shook his head. “I’m not a man. I can’t be hurt – and I rather think I’m immortal.”

Regan looked at him again. “Perhaps you are. An immortal, I mean. What draws you? What makes you feel right, and alive?”

“Passion,” Haunt replied immediately. “That stirring in the blood, when people are fighting furiously - or loving furiously.”

Regan nodded, and brought out a slim tome. “Well – there it is. I think that we’ve discovered your name.”

Haunt looked at the picture, and when Regan spoke the word, murmured it over in his mouth. Somehow it fitted. Somehow it fitted perfectly.

“But you know, then, that if you build your machines I am lost.” And then he leant forward. “And not only I, but you also.”

Regan jumped up. “I’m no wight!”

“Nor am I. But I’m no prince among men. Look at you – your bearing, your tastes, your courtly manner. You’re as much out of the land before wights as I am, though you may not be immortal. I wasn’t wrong, calling you dragonslayer. Look in the books for your own name!”

But Regan was shaking his head. “Leave. Please leave. If something has to be lost in order to rid the world of that unseelie evil, so be it. But I’m not part of it!”

Suddenly Haunt looked up. “Did you hear that?”

“What?”

“I thought I heard the sound of a hunting horn.”

Sorry and Maidlin took one look at the motley assortment of terrifying creatures that were riding towards them and began to run.

“Running water – if we can cross’t . . . if’n we can make it t’yon Kellylander creek . . .”

But Sorry had seen a wide expanse of land between the forest and the Kellylands. And the riders were fast approaching, the baying of the hounds growing louder. She could also hear the wild whoops of the riders, and the roar of the Nuckelavee.

The sight of that beast had her running faster than anything else. It was a wild horse, with fiery eyes and poisonous breath; but out of the back of the creature rose arms, head, body something like a man. Except that the arms were long, long enough to sweep the ground; and the head was enormous, rolling on a neckless body. The most hideous part of all was that it had no skin, so all its veins, muscles and sinews could be seen tracking over its gruesome body.

“Aye, tis me they’re after,” Maidlin muttered, as they raced towards the Kellylands. “It’s said they seek t’woman, and I’m harrying them, like enough –“

But Sorry stopped, and Maidlin saw a fierce grin cross her face.

“They seek a woman, do they? Well, they can come and get us, and be happy with what they get,” she hissed.

The baying of the dogs sounded closer, and then a deep roar. But Sorry returned with her own wild cry, and grabbed a blade from her boot. Then she looked up, and saw a large overhanging branch. Grabbing Maidlin, she helped the girl up there, then, uttering another shout, leapt up herself.

From there they could see the Hunt more clearly. The Nuckelavee led the fray, but a dozen other horses followed, with the oddest set of creatures clinging to their backs. Hags with iron teeth and hair like dead leaves wrapped spindly arms about their wild mounts. Cow-tailed Bugganes, and puck-faced goblins rode beside. Two black-haired Duergar, dwarves holding massive axes, rode a single horse, while clod-faced trolls hung grimly on to their smaller beasts.

Tossing Maidlin a spare blade, she crouched down, waiting for the Hunt to pass beneath the branches. A small thin smile came over her lips as, with a sudden yell, she leapt down onto one of the wild horses, grabbing the long soft hair of a Buggane and slicing him across with her iron blade.

The horse reared and screamed, and Sorry tossed the body to the baying hounds beneath. A Grindleyteeth Hag made a swipe at her, but she kicked at the witch, and cried out again in triumph as Maidlin, from her perch in the tree, dropped a burning brand onto her dried-leaf hair.

The Hunt was now spread out into the plain ahead of the Kellylands, but with the cry of the devastated wights it had slowed, and was turning back to see who had disturbed them. The horn sounded again and again, as they spotted the two women, destroying the murderous wights, and tossing their bodies to the slathering jaws of the hounds.

The sound of the Nuckelavee’s roar shook Sorry, but thrilled her as well. He grabbed the hunting horn away from the horned creature beside him, and sounded a long winding note. With that, the dogs raced towards him, and the horses shrieked, rearing up and leaving Sorry on the ground. Maidlin took a desperate leap and landed beside her.

“You were safe up there!” Sorry rebuked her, pulling herself up. “Get back –“

“Na, I’m t’Hunter, remember? This be our Hunt,” she replied, her eyes flashing.

“We’re in it together, then, friend,” Sorry said finally, squeezing Maidlin’s hand and offering her a smile.

“Together,” Maidlin nodded, then looked up. “What be – look at that!”

The dark force of the Hunt was riding towards them from the west; but from the east came a brightness and a light; and Haunt was leading it.

“Looks as though we’ve got some help,” Sorry said, grinning. “Evens out the odds . . .”

Haunt and Regan ran over towards them, followed by all manner of strange creatures – centaurs and satyrs, naiads and dryads, sprites and silkies, beings that shone with magic.

A great white horse, with a mane shot with silver, raced up to Sorry. She mounted, then leaned down, reaching a hand out to Maidlin.

“Get up, and we’ll destroy those unseelie beasts!” she cried. “Say your words, Hunter, and return those things to dust!”

Maidlin knew the words the wights feared, that would turn the trolls into dust and the goblins into stone. She leapt up behind Sorry, and clung on as they spurred the white horse towards the Hunt.

The rest of the battle seemed a mess of purple wight blood, piercing screams and hoarse cries, and the roar of the Nuckelavee over it all. Maidlin’s low words echoed as the unseelie beasts crumpled, while the snapping and baying of the hounds changed to whimpers of terror as they were bewitched by the spirits Haunt had brought.

Sorry found that she was watching, not just the creatures who fell beneath her blade, but Haunt who clutched a sword made of silver. He leapt into the fray, destroying the hags who went for his throat, the clawed monsters with fiery red eyes. There was something noble about him, even more so than Regan, who was every inch the prince that day.

Maidlin slipped off the back of her horse while Sorry was occupied, and edged towards the Nuckelavee, aware that the battle could not end until that creature was destroyed. She drew closer and closer, muttering words, aware that the beast could not turn his head on his neckless body. Suddenly his great arm snatched, grabbing at Maidlin.

“No!” Regan cried, running after her. He grabbed onto the enormous red arm, pulling at the creature and drawing his iron sword. The beast reared up and howled as Regan sliced through the long trailing arms, dropping Maidlin to the ground.

“Get back!” Maidlin cried, but Regan ran forward and plunged his sword into the creature’s belly. It reared, roaring, then turned, letting out a blast of poisonous air before collapsing at his feet. Regan tried to rise himself, but stumbled and fell beside Maidlin.

“What’s it – ah, yer arm!” Maidlin breathed, looking at the limb, puckered and burned from the Nuckelavee’s breath.

There was low rumble of thunder, and a flash of light, and they looked automatically towards the mountains. There, the last of the seelie folk disappeared – but just behind them they saw a creature who had not appeared in the battle.

“Did you see – did you see that?” Regan whispered. “Like a horse, but brighter, larger – with that spiralling horn on its head –“

Maidlin turned back to Regan with something like hope in her eyes. “An do t’books on yer house speak ‘bout one such as tha?”

He nodded, and then got himself up awkwardly. “You know it. That reclusive being has enough power to purify every poison in the world . . .” He stumbled again.

Maidlin shrugged. “T’Kellylands are not far. If t’prince can shelter thereways, I’m be making up t’poultice for his wounds.”

Regan looked at Maidlin steadily. “I’m no prince,” he told her. “But I’d be glad to shelter there.”

Sorry cried out in triumph as the last unseelie wight fell beneath her blade. She held it up, dripping with blood, and tossed back her hair, feeling wilder and freer than ever. A crackle of thunder set her alight; she looked back and saw Haunt coming towards her.

“Sorry!”

She flung aside her blade before he reached her, then grinned as he did the same, moving forward and holding her face in his hands, grimy with strangers’ blood.

“Seeing you out there, routing evil with your sword –“ Sorry leant back in his arms and sighed. “I felt twice as alive once you were there to see me.”

He pulled her into an embrace, his mouth moving wildly over hers, his eyes flashing. Sorry gave a laugh, which changed into a low groan as his lips moved over her face, her throat. She looked around, seeing the great plain empty, that had been filled with the sound of menace and pain just minutes ago. Then she slipped her hands beneath his vest, revelling in the gasp that followed.

She remembered the first time they had been together, in his cave beyond the river. They had torn one another’s clothes in their frenzy, and the place had been scattered with bits of cloth.

“You’ve the body of a greek god, Haunt,” she told him, drawing him down with her into the long grasses of the plain.

“There’s a reason for that,” he answered finally, stilling her hands a moment and watching the change in her eyes. “I found my true name today.”

She smiled suddenly, and then tugged mischievously at his ear-lobe. “So then – you’re the god of sweet music?”

He choked, then laughed out loud.

“I’d say Eros, except he was a fluttering baby –“ she went on, then made a low noise in her throat as rolled her over and settled himself on her. His lips moved over hers, his hands wandering.

“There’s a god of battle-lust?” Sorry murmured finally.

Sorry hoped that the night caring for Regan in the Kellylands would have made things clear for Maidlin, but she could see from her sad expression that nothing had happened. Although Regan looked upon the golden-haired girl with eyes of love, Maidlin could simply not see it.

“What did ye call’t?”

“Unicorn,” Regan said, opening up the book he’d brought to Haunt and Sorry’s cabin.

“And this can cure your arm – and the poison of the Basilisk?” Sorry asked hopefully.

“More than that – it could kill the Basilisk,” Regan told her. “But there’s a catch. The Unicorn can never be caught.”

“Then . . .”

“It will follow only the bidding of a maid. A virgin maid,” he emphasised.

Sorry grinned. “I won’t be much help, then,” she admitted. “Well, Maidlin and I will just have to seek one of those rare creatures. Haunt, if you can show Regan to the Basilisk’s lair, we’ll meet you there.”

She waited until both Regan and Haunt had left, then looked at Maidlin steadily.

“Are you a maid?” she asked.

A little colour came to Maidlin’s cheeks, but Sorry knew there was an innocence in the girl, because she did not know when she was loved.

“We’ll lure the unicorn, but we’ll lure a prince, too,” Sorry promised. “Come, princess of the Kellylands. We’ll dress you as you deserve, and we’ll purify all the poisons of this land.”

She took Maidlin over to a large chest by the bed, where her clothes were folded.

“Here,” she said finally. “That should catch a unicorn, and a beast, too. Strange, that the only thing to destroy the unseelie beast is another wight . . .”

Suddenly her eyes changed. “Though perhaps that isn’t strange at all.”

“Aye,” Maidlin agreed slowly. “For t’ancient people wouldn’t have abandoned their machines for tha evil wights. Mayhaps they gave them up hoping t’see tha seelie creatures again . . .”

Sorry remembered the sight of the strange bright wights who had helped them in battle, and nodded. “Fighting the occasional battle against the unseelie creatures would be worth having those other beings around . . .” Then she shook her head. “I hope Regan can understand that, before he thinks of bringing those machines into the world again.”

“Once an he sees t’unicorn, he’ll know,” Maidlin said confidently, then sighed as Sorry held up a shimmering gown against her.

Haunt took Regan across the river, where his cave was, where he’d first been woken by Sorry. There was a small creek which came off the river, with a pool of clear water, and a grove of trees. Now it was blackened, with a stench of rotting. It had once been perfect.

“There – above the trees, near those cliffs – the basilisk makes its lair,” Haunt pointed out.

“And the unicorn should come from the forest,” Regan put in, turning. “There . . .”

Then his mouth fell open as he saw the golden-haired girl, clad in a gown of green, the green of her eyes, and sitting beneath a flowering magnolia tree. Her hair was bound with a woven circlet of flowers, and her lap was full of them.

He made a step towards the girl, but Haunt pulled him back. There, behind the trees, a white form could be seen, moving slowly, tossing its head, drawn towards the lovely girl sitting quietly beneath the tree.

And then in a rush it moved towards her and laid its head on her lap.

Maidlin stroked the pure white mane of the unicorn, and looked deep into the animal’s eyes, knowing instinctively what to say, feeling utter joy and contentment at the sight of the beautiful creature.

They stayed there, a perfect picture, for just moments. Then Maidlin looked up and beckoned to Regan. His eyes connected to her own; and so they stayed. He moved over, softly and steadily, to the girl and the unicorn, and then sighed as the creature breathed on his arm, and it was whole again.

Haunt found himself holding his breath as Maidlin whispered to the unicorn once more.

“She will do it.”

He looked up, and saw Sorry was beside him.

“Maidlin will ask the unicorn to heal this place, and it will be as it was before. It will be perfect.”

Haunt nodded, then grinned as he watched the unicorn leave, heading to the lair of the Basilisk.

“What are you thinking?” Sorry asked, nudging him. Haunt grinned again.

“I’m thinking this will be the last time Maidlin will be able to lure a Unicorn.”

Sorry laughed, and looked again to see Regan move forward to kiss the green-eyed girl.

“She’ll remember,” Sorry promised, and then turned Haunt’s gaze to her own. “And more importantly, Regan will too. He'll forget about his machines, because he would not be whole without the seelie wights.”

"Nor without my seelie maid," Regan added, looking over at Sorry and Haunt with a smile. "I think there was once a prince who gave up a kingdom for such a girl . . ."

"An one girl tha became princess for t'prince," Maidlin replied softly.

There was a wild cry, and a roar, and then a shimmer of light. The scent of cherry blossom filled the air, and a burble of flowing water sounded. They looked around and saw that everything had changed. And just above them on the hill, a silver unicorn reared, and then raced away.

...h.o.m.e...
bleeding-heart[dot]net