Chapter One

 

 

The wide, misty meadow was empty until the girl in the wheelchair appeared. With just the faintest twinkling of light, the mist wavered, and she emerged out of thin air, like someone had pulled away a curtain. In her hands was a hunk of uncut diamond. For a moment it shone brighter than it normally would have in the evening light, before a dirty stain blossomed from inside it, growing darker and darker as it enveloped the gem. By the time the girl nonchalantly tossed it into the grass, it had turned into a lump of coal.

The girl’s eyes were shut the whole time; she seemed unable to open them as she pushed back her short blond hair and sniffed the breeze, quite like a dog trying to figure out its bearings.

“Fie, Alvey,” she eventually muttered to herself as she stopped sniffing. “You are quite far from your mark. Curse Mother and Father, never letting me use Light Magic to spirit myself away before.”

Alvey grabbed the wheels of her chair, then suddenly froze, turning her head. On the outskirts of the meadow behind her, where an ancient oak grove stood, something was moving through the grass. It made only the slightest noise, and most would not be able to hear it as far away as she was. But she listened for a moment, biting her lip. The sound stopped.

Getting a better grasp on the wheels, she began to push her chair onward with uncommon ease, away from the trees. The meadow was thick with grass and uneven, but her wooden wheelchair moved forward smoothly, the turf seeming to turn away from the wheels or rise up to meet them as needed.

At first Alvey went straight ahead, but after another sniff of the air, she changed course slightly, heading instead toward the dusty road to her right. She reached the path in less than a minute, pushing herself along breezily with very little effort at all, almost as though the chair was partially self-propelled.

Just as the breeze picked up again, carrying the warm scents from a nearby town with it, she once again sniffed the air, a smile lighting her face.

“It shall not be long at all,” she said happily.

Alvey was not alone on the path; coming up from behind, leading a horse laden with a bale of hay for a tiny barn-shed on the outside of the town, was a farmer from a pasture close by. He was brown-haired, freckled, and middle-aged, walking with his head down, weary from the long day’s work.

But he remembered his wife’s constant admonitions that he ought to stand up straight or he’d be hunchbacked in a few years, so he sucked in his breath and stretched. As he looked ahead, he spotted Alvey.

She was wheeling smoothly but slowly, so he and his horse caught up fast. He intended to begin the conversation by asking what she was doing there, but she spoke over her shoulder to him.

“That is an old horse you have, methinks,” she commented. “’Tis a wonder that hay stays on his weary back.”

He hesitated, then asked, “Now what’s a wee thing like you doing alone? I don’t think I’ve seen you around these parts.” His voice was marked with a strong Scottish accent.

“I am clearly going to town.” She frowned, tilting her head. “This is the way to town…?”

“Well, you’d see better if you’d open your eyes now, now wouldn’t you?” he asked, frowning down at her as she resolutely kept her face forward, her eyes shut. He noticed she had a gray woolen tasseled shawl over her legs, entirely hiding them from sight; he couldn’t even see her feet.

“My eyes will never open,” she replied simply.

“Why’s that?” Then his mouth fell open, and he asked in a lower voice, “Faeries did it, did they?”

“Aye. Just as you say.”

His expression changed to one of sympathy as he nodded. “Isn’t that just their way? Not a single person I know who doesn’t have some story to tell about how faeries ruined their lives… or their family’s lives… or their neighbors, or someone. It’s a rough business, having them around so much.”

“They are odd,” she agreed with a nod.

“They do something to your legs then too?” He pointed down at her shawl-covered legs.

“Nay, I believe this was natural.” She drew the shawl up, and the farmer let out a gurgled gasp. Her legs, covered by her blue dress, ended halfway down her thighs.

He coughed into his hand, looking up at an oak tree beside the road as if looking for words. “Well that’s… that’s just some rough luck. But how’re you all balanced in that chair then, like that?”

“’Twas made for me,” she replied with an airy wave of her hand as she placed her shawl back and resumed pushing the wheels.

“Hmm. Say, let me push your chair for you.”

“If you insist,” she said immediately, folding her hands in her lap. “You have my thanks.”

He wrapped his horse’s lead around his wrist, freeing his hands, and began to push her along. She was far lighter than he’d expected, and the chair was easy to maneuver.

“Are the Forest Caves nearby?” Alvey asked.

“Well, they’re closer to the next town over than this one here,” he replied lightly. “You have family there, do you?”

She raised her chin and smiled. “I have come hither to investigate them immediately.”

He let out a short laugh. “Are you now? It’s nearly dark.”

“I do not fear the dark.”

She didn’t hear the farmer’s response; instead, she focused on the faint rustling in the meadow where she had just been. Furrowing her brow, she clenched her fists, leaning her head to listen. Something was heading toward them. She sniffed the wind, detecting something she didn’t recognize—though it was definitely a faery.

What could that be? It must be following me, but ’tis impossible for Mother and Father to have sent anything after me so soon. Could it be… She shivered. Unseelie? A dark faery?

“…besides,” the farmer continued, looking down at her, “even though we’re not too far north, there’ll be plenty of bad faeries out at night. You won’t want to put them to the test, now will you?”

“I… suppose not.” She sighed, folding her arms and leaning back in the chair. The creature in the meadow was still following, but much more slowly, keeping its distance.

Is it because I am with a human? In that case…

“I daresay I shall have to stay the night in the town. But after that, I must…” She trailed off as her stomach abruptly grumbled loudly.

The farmer’s horse nickered in reply, ears perked, as if it heard one of its kin vocalizing.

“You might want a bite first.” The farmer chuckled, leaning to the side and spotting her cheeks red in embarrassment.

“Perchance is there an inn? Or a… rest-aurant?” She said the last word slowly, as if she was unfamiliar with it.

“Aye, plenty of places for you to quell that monster in your stomach.”

“Very well. I shall go there and spend the night. Then tomorrow I shall find the caves.”

He shook his head but, not wanting to offend this strange girl more than necessary, muttered to himself in Scottish Gaelic. “Girls these days, too independent if you ask me.”

“I do not think anyone was asking you,” Alvey said in the same language fluently.

His eyebrows shot up. “You’re from Scotland?”

“Yes, thereabouts.”

He noted her Gaelic dialect was a bit old-fashioned, but he brushed it aside. “Where is your family from?”

She tilted her head, then replied, “The Borders.”

“Galashiels?”

“Out in the countryside, to the west. Dumfries and Galloway.”

He tut-tutted. “No wonder you got that nasty curse on your eyes, living so near the Summer Court!”

She smiled widely, the knowing smile of someone who had a secret and was a bit smug about it. “It certainly does have its risks.”