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Should I get Ziggy, just in case things get out of control?
Rachel immediately dismisses the idea. She wouldn’t put the Fae light in harm’s way, regardless of the fact that it’s nothing more than a ball of energy with a personality.
Maybe I need to notify Dougal?
Again, she instantly decides against it. He has enough to deal with, and there’s no telling if Mercia’s part of the bargain will pan out.
This is my problem to handle.
“This will do,” Mercia says, setting a large wooden chest on the basement floor in front of the bare north-facing wall. She opens it and takes out several flat, rounded objects, covered in red velvet fabric. “I wouldn’t normally do this outside of a protection barrier, but desperate times call for—” She fumbles one of the objects, catching it before it falls. “Whoa. That was close.”
“Do you need help?” Rachel steps closer.
“Thanks, but if I break one, I just get grounded. If you break one, you literally die.” Mercia carefully places the last rounded object on the floor before reaching back into the wooden chest.
Rachel perches on an upturned crate, whatever it had once held long since gone.
Mercia lifts a large, oddly shaped object from the chest with both hands.
“Okay, let’s see if I remember how this works.” Mercia rights herself and squares her shoulders, staring at the wall. She says a weird word, and the object flies out of her hands and fixes against the wall. Mercia grins as she steps closer and pulls the velvet fabric off from the object, revealing an obsidian disk in an ornate, black frame. Eight crescents are carved into it, just large enough to hold whatever else Mercia’s unpacked from the crate. She returns to the stack of velvet-covered objects and picks one up. She closes her eyes as she unwraps a smaller one, whispering something Rachel can’t hear before the disk flies to the large black mirror and slips into a crescent bracket.
“You’re going to have to tell me what we’re doing,” Rachel says. She crosses her legs. “I can’t figure it out.”
“I’m putting together an interdimensional scrying mirror,” Mercia answers, eyes still closed as she reaches for the second disk.
“Oh.”
Mercia whispers to the object in her hands, which follows its brother into another empty crescent in the mainframe. One after another, the disks fly to the wall, until all eight smaller obsidian mirrors are in place. Mercia opens her eyes and smiles at her handiwork, pushing the empty chest aside with her foot.
“There.”
“Now what?” Rachel asks.
“Now,” Mercia begins, glancing over her shoulder to Rachel, “I need something personal of Orion’s to focus on. Something he’s touched or—” Her gaze falls to Rachel’s neck. “That’ll do.”
Rachel reaches up to the umbrella pendant and holds it firmly.
“I’m not going to break it.”
“See that you don’t.” Rachel reluctantly takes off the Ronamy Stone. She crosses the basement and hands the necklace over.
Mercia takes the necklace in both hands as she steps up to the black mirror, closing her eyes again. Her words are mere breaths, spoken so.
As Mercia opens her eyes, the pendant glows in purples and blues, with hues of green sometimes flashing intermittently. She raises her hand. The golden chain swings forward and backward, the umbrella pendant almost touching the mirror. Her blonde hair blows wildly around her face as the enchantment becomes louder, more insistent.
An impossible wind rushes through the basement, blowing around loose paper and dust.
Rachel pushes her hair out of her face, staring at the strange frame as it turns counterclockwise. Faster and faster, the frame moves, the smaller obsidian surfaces reflecting extraordinary landscapes. Images take shape, impossible worlds are revealed. There’s a realm where black peaks stab at cerulean skies and rough cliffs disappear beneath angry purple waters. Another realm shows darkness and fire and cities built into mountainsides. Another mirror reflects a world of glass, where people are ruled by technology and machines are worshipped like gods. There are castles built in the sky, societies that live underwater, and unimaginable creatures.
Mercia’s voice crescendos across the phantom wind’s howling.
Suddenly, the frame halts its movement and the large oval mirror shows Orion standing beside a black stallion, dressed in an unfamiliar uniform. Black armor gleams beneath the red insignia emblazoned over his chest. Twin deer, on their hind legs—the same one she saw on Mercia’s goldmint pills. And hanging on his belt is a sheathed broadsword, the silver hilt depicting a stag’s head—antlers and all.
Mercia stops chanting and lowers the glowing pendant. She tilts her head as she gazes at the mirror.
“He’s in the Fae Realm,” Mercia says. She places her free hand against the surface, the image rippling like water. “It’ll take about three days on foot to reach his camp, but the journey is not without danger.” She pulls her hand back and fishes a brass compact from her jean pocket. Mercia whispers a few words, and the glow of the pendant fades. A moment later, the wind hushes and the images on the mirror vanish. “That’s sorted.” She pivots and holds out the necklace to Rachel. “Once you give me the goldmint, I’ll give you the map.”
Rachel replaces the necklace around her neck as she moves to the old armchair where she’d set her sling bag, then rummages until she finds the plastic baggie. As she turns around, Mercia’s relief is almost tangible. Her shoulders relax as she exhales. Rachel returns to hand over the baggie.
“Okay.” Mercia pockets the goldmint. She takes a step closer and opens the brass compact to reveal yet another set of obsidian mirrors. “I transferred the map into this travel-sized mirror.” An image of the ACCESS PROHIBITED sign takes shape in the reflective area. “The top mirror shows Orion at any given moment. The bottom one will show you the next landmark to look for on your way to him. So, basically, it’s your map. Once you go past the signpost, the image changes. Simple yet effective, don’t you agree?”
Rachel grumbles an affirmative as she stares at the mirror. “You said something about danger?”
“I don’t exactly know what made me say it. The terrain isn’t friendly, sure, but it’s something else. I think what I sensed relates more to the people Orion’s hanging around with ... They’re giving off iffy vibes,” Mercia explains, handing over the compact mirror. “Just keep an eye out for trouble and you’ll be fine.”
“That’s it?”
Mercia shrugs. “That’s it.”
Dubious, Rachel studies Mercia’s expression, searching for something insincere. Surely there’s more to this trip than simply walking for a few days. The Fae Realm is, after all, a whole other dimension, with unknown dangers and whatnot.
“Don’t look at me like I’ve just signed your death warrant.” Mercia steps toward the wooden chest. “Seriously, there are simpler ways to kill you if ending your life was my intention. Besides, why would I, when you’re one of the few people I, like, don’t entirely hate?”
Rachel pockets the compact mirror. “Yesterday—”
“I wasn’t thinking clearly,” Mercia cuts her off. “I’m so used to everyone making fun of me and my condition that I sometimes forget there are actually a few decent people in this town. Don’t think I didn’t notice you slapping Eddie Roberts’ phone out of his hand sophomore year when I—” She stops talking as she hunches down and opens the lid on the chest, averting her gaze. Mercia clears her throat. “Females typically wear pants and tunics when they travel long distances in the Fae Realm. You should also braid your hair, that way you won’t stand out too much when you come across any locals.”
“Okay, but what if I don’t find Orion and I need to get back to the Harrowsgate? Will this thing show me the way?” Rachel bites the inside of her lip.
“Even magic has its limits,” Mercia says. “Go, get ready.” She looks up. “You’re burning valuable daylight.”
“You’ll help Dougal, right?” Rachel asks.
“I give you my word as a Holstein witch. I’ll help keep everyone semi-safe.”
“Semi-safe?”
“Well, it’s not like I’m all-powerful. If I were, don’t you think I’d have this situation under control by now?” Mercia snorts. “Now go. I need to pack up the mirrors.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Rachel takes her leave, heading for her bedroom to pack the essentials. A lot can go wrong in three days, especially in an unknown realm where she cannot distinguish between friend and foe. If something goes wrong, she’s on her own. Nobody will come looking for her. There’s no cell phone signal, no Wi-Fi, no emergency services.
Rachel settles on taking only the bare minimum. This includes: a thick rolled-up blanket, her toiletries, a lighter, extra underwear and socks, enough food to last her a week, and a water bottle. She decides on a pair of black jeans, a white winter’s shirt that laces up in the front and looks medieval to the untrained eye, as well as a pair of black hiking boots. At the last minute, she adds a heavy-duty torch and extra batteries, as well as a second outfit into her backpack—black leggings and a thick winter jacket with a faux fur hoodie and cuffs. That’s the best she can do on such short notice.
“Rachel,” Mercia shouts from downstairs as Rachel braids her thick, red hair. “If you take any longer, you might as well wait until morning.”
Rachel ties the ends of her hair and picks up the faux leather backpack she plans on taking along. “Come on, Ziggy. Let’s go find Orion and bring him home.”
The Fae light flies ahead of her as Rachel exits her room and makes her way back downstairs, where Mercia stands in the foyer, the chest of mirrors waiting outside the front door.
“Took you long enough,” Mercia mumbles. “You have the compact mirror?”
Rachel touches her front pocket. “Yes.”
“A first-aid kit for emergencies?”
“Yup.”
“Water, food, and—”
“I can open the bag for you to check if you want?”
“Sorry, it’s not every day I send someone off into the unknown.” Mercia crosses her arms. “The Fae light I saw flying past is going with you, right?”
Rachel nods.
“And that’s your sleeping bag?”
“It’s a blanket,” Rachel corrected her. “I couldn’t find my sleeping bag.”
“Don’t you think it’s kind of important to have a sleeping bag when you’re going out into an unknown wilderness?”
“Yes, but the sleeping bags are probably somewhere in the attic, and time is running out.”
“Okay.” Mercia grimaces. “Good luck then, I guess.”
“Your enthusiasm is infectious,” Rachel says in a deadpan tone as she walks toward the open front door. “I sent Dougal a text telling him you’ll be helping, along with your number.”
“And?”
“You should explain the witchy business to him,” Rachel says. She locks the front door behind them. “He’s a little close-minded on some things, but eventually he’ll come around to the idea of you having magic.”
“Close-minded in what way?”
“Well, Dougal isn’t the type of person who’ll divulge your secret unless it is a threat to someone he cares for, but he won’t be too happy about having to work with a witch either.” Rachel descends the porch steps and walks across the lawn. “Truth be told, it’s likely he’ll be speaking in Gaelic every time you go near him, which isn’t half as bad as it sounds.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Mercia says. “Don’t get yourself killed, okay?”
“It’s definitely not on my to-do list,” Rachel calls back. She steps onto Griswold Road.
“Oh.” Mercia’s voice halts her. “When you go through the gate, just think about Orion, otherwise you may end up somewhere completely different. The Harrowsgate sometimes has a mind of its own.”
That explains why Dougal and I ended up in Telfore. We had no idea where we wanted to go.
“Thanks.” Rachel waves her goodbye, and continues walking up the road.
Ziggy flies ahead, dipping toward a dense shrub. The Fae light circles the foliage as Rachel nears the sign. Ziggy flies back to her side before returning to the shrub. She turns her attention to the greenery.
“Please tell me I don’t have to talk to a bush,” Rachel says.
Ziggy flashes once.
She throws her head back to look at the sky, where the sun is already plunging toward the horizon. With a frustrated groan, she rights herself.
In case there are any hidden faeries, pixies, and knockers present, she knows it’s only appropriate to ask permission to enter the forest, but there’s something about talking to plants that just screams crazy.
“Hi,” she says, grimacing at the tremble in her voice. “Yesterday, Mrs. Crenshaw was attacked by a Miser Fae, as I’m sure you know, but Dougal and I can’t defeat the creep without help. So, I need to go to Orthega, find Orion, and bring him back here.” Rachel looks back at Ziggy. “How was that?”
Ziggy answers by dimming, as if to say, “Meh”.
“Please?” she adds, directing the word to the bush, while keeping an eye on Ziggy.
The Fae light flashes once, apparently approving of her manners.
“Can we go now?”
Another single flash answers. Ziggy flies off, moving beyond the invisible barrier without slowing.
Rachel steps up to the ACCESS PROHIBITED sign.
The magical barrier, which surrounds the entire forest, sent electrical tingles across her skin the last time she’d entered. Those ripples hadn’t been entirely unpleasant, but Rachel’s fairly positive that when she and Dougal passed through without permission, they’d inadvertently set off the forest’s defense mechanism.
She takes a moment to gather her courage, and fills her lungs with the crisp autumn air, then takes a cautious step forward. Nothing hinders her advancement. Rachel takes a second step forward. No tingling sensation. With an exhale of relief, she walks deeper into the forest, calling out her thanks for being granted permission.
Ziggy glides past the first tree, weaves around the second, and circles the third.
“Hey, wait up.” Rachel ducks beneath a low branch. She climbs across raised roots, and manages to keep a few paces behind the seemingly jubilant golden sphere.
Ziggy bounces in midair as if to tell her to hurry, before rushing back to her side.
“I’m saving my energy,” she says when the Fae light circles her. “Think of it as a marathon, not a sprint.”
Ziggy rushes forward and back several times, urging her to move faster.
“Dude, you’re getting on my nerves. Cut it out or I’m turning back.”
In response, Ziggy loses some of his vibrancy, grows a shade darker. He hovers a few steps ahead of her, only moving forward when she does.
“Now you’re taunting me?”
One flash from Ziggy confirms her assumption.
Rachel shakes her head and picks up the pace. “You’re a real pain sometimes.”
She always anticipates birdsong or hopes to see a squirrel or hare scrambling for cover, but the trek through the dense forest is devoid of life. There’s an unbearable hush, a nothingness that seems to burrow into her very being. Apart from her footfalls on the fallen leaves, aside from her rhythmic breathing, only—
The melody picks up from somewhere deep within the forest. She’s willing to give into the temptation of following the sweet sound if it leads her closer to where she needs to be. If it leads her to Orion ...
Meanwhile, her thoughts and a sulking magical lightbulb are her only company. Strange questions she can’t begin to answer pop randomly into her mind. How long until she gets to the portal? Is it even considered a portal? Who built it? Why did they build it? Is Stonehenge actually another one of these Fae portals?
“You still angry with me?” Her soft spoken words sound like a shout into the void, but it’s better than the countless weird questions wreaking havoc on her psyche.
Ziggy answers with two flashes. No.
“Are we relatively close to where we need to be?”
Ziggy hesitates, but eventually a single flash comes. He slacks off and sidles up to her, glows a bit brighter, before wandering ahead again. She follows, wordless, until she steps over a vaguely familiar rotting tree trunk. Ziggy disappears around a red maple, moss covering the northern side of the bark. She weaves around the red maple tree and faces her immediate future. Four white birch trees are twisted together to create a natural, living arch, and carved at the top is its name—Harrowsgate.
“Finally,” she breathes the word, staring at the gateway to Orthega.
A mixture of excitement and anxiety floods her system as she nears the faerie circle. Emerald green grass is accompanied by a variety of wildflowers, which continue to bloom even in the cooling months. Mushrooms encircle the strange formation—the “faerie circle” as Dougal had claimed. Her heart beats faster, not in fear but in anticipation. She wants to cross the mushrooms. An inherent need pulls her toward the Harrowsgate. Rachel battles against the urge and instead makes her way around the faerie circle, studying every inch of the birch tree arch. There’s no telling where she’ll end up once she crosses through—hopefully she’ll avoid Telfore this time—and she has no idea if she’ll find Orion. She has to try, though. For Shadow Grove and all the people who call it home.
Rachel completes the circle and repositions the backpack on her shoulder.
Ziggy moves closer to her, now a vibrant gold that swirls like liquid.
“You ready?” she asks.
One flash answers her question.
Rachel nods, holds out her hand in front of her, and unfurls her fingers.
Ziggy inches closer until he’s hovering over her palm.
The sunrays penetrating the canopy of leaves catch his surface and rebound, creating a magical lightshow that brightens the arch.
The world as she knows it becomes an insignificant memory as she crosses the mushroom border with Ziggy in hand. There is no resistance this time, no crackling energy running across her skin. This time, the only things that matter are the arch and the immeasurable possibilities lying beyond it. It’s as if all the problems she’s ever faced, all the good memories she’s made in her lifetime, are inconsequential.
She reaches out with her free hand to touch the gateway and exhales through her nose as something indescribable ripples against her skin. The melody stops and Rachel recoils, snapping out of her trance.
“Tricky little thing,” she whispers, grinning.
A soft, almost imperceptible humming resonates from the Harrowsgate, the sound intensifying the temptation. She lifts Ziggy higher and moves him into the gateway, watching her hand disappear into the rippling void. With a deep breath, she squeezes her eyes shut and takes another step closer. The humming grows louder, more distinct. Suddenly, it feels like she’s moving through air. It’s nothing like falling. No. It’s more like she’s drifting on a slight breeze. The air grows denser around her and cools her skin. The Harrowsgate wants her, and deep inside her, she feels like she needs to answer its call.
The sensations of moving through space and time, of literally crossing into another universe, come to an abrupt end.
Rachel opens her eyes and finds herself standing inside another circle, where rounded stones protrude from yellowing grass. She looks around, finds an angry sky overhead and a dirt road at the bottom of the hill.
Ziggy flashes in her hand.
“Okay, where to now?” she asks.
Ziggy moves away and hovers at eye-level, not flashing.
“Oh, yeah, Mercia’s mirror.” Rachel fishes the compact mirror out of her front pocket and opens it with her thumb. The obsidian surface ripples as an image takes shape—a grassy hilltop. She looks around, notices a road surrounded by small rolling hills, all covered in grass. “Well, that narrows it down.”
Ziggy flies out of the stone circle, heading in the opposite direction of the road.
“You sure?”
One flash.
She mumbles an unconvinced, “Okay,” and follows the Fae light toward the rolling hills, where long, yellow blades of grass wither in silence. Rachel glances up at the darkening sky, expecting lightning to flash or thunder to roll before rain pelts the dehydrated earth. There’s no sign of lightning, though. And those clouds, regardless of their threatening appearance, don’t look like rain is coming anytime soon. If anything, there’s a snowstorm approaching, which will make her search for Orion so much harder.
“I think it’ll be wise if we start moving faster now. We’ll make camp when it gets too dark to see, okay?”
This time Ziggy doesn’t answer her with a flash. The Fae light simply picks up speed, apparently knowing exactly which way they need to go. She hastens after the ball of light, repositioning one of the backpack’s straps over her shoulder as she goes.
