The sun was high in the sky and beating down hotly on her neck and back, when Fiona at last laid down her trowel and watering can, and stiffly standing, surveyed the row upon row of seedlings planted out before her. If most survived the summer, she reckoned she would have a fine crop of vegetables next spring.
She rolled her shoulders, trying to ease the tightness, and again for a moment, she felt dizzy, as if the headache from the other night was coming back on. That pressure from earlier in the morning was back across her brow, and she winced against the sudden pain behind her eyes. Too much sun on the back of her neck she thought, and inwardly she cursed herself for stupidly being out so long in the sun without a hat. It was time to head indoors, get a cold drink and spend some time in the shade.
Quickly, she pulled off the gardening gloves and dusted the red soil from her knees.
“You are turning into quite the Holly Homemaker,” said a low and sarcastic voice behind her.
Fiona spun around to encounter the cold blue eyes of her ex-boyfriend, and glancing behind him noticed an unknown woman dressed entirely in black.
It had been eight months since she had seen Dale and it was obvious that the time apart had wrought many changes in him. Dale had always been the scuffed boots, faded jeans and flannelette shirt type, that is when he wasn’t playing sports with his mates, but now – the crudely dyed black hair, black jeans and purple shirt was new, along with the girl, who seemed to Fiona to be entirely cut from the same austere black cloth. She wore high-heeled black boots, a long black satin dress and gloves, and straight black hair that reached past her shoulders. Her gothic, almost menacing garb seemed as out of place in Fiona’s bright sunlit garden, as was a chrome and glass skyscraper in an old growth rainforest.
“What? A new girlfriend already?” Fiona asked without preamble.
“Yeah,” he replied, his face twisting in a nasty way. “This is Helena.”
Helena looked across at Fiona and gave her a cold and venomous look in return.
“So what can I do for you, Dale?” Fiona asked levelly, pointedly ignoring the other woman.
“Nothing,” he replied, “I just wanted to show Helena the place where the old bat McDonald used to live.”
“You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead,” Fiona replied humourlessly, adding, “Well, you’ve seen it, now please go.”
“What?” he grinned, “No tea and cake for your visitors, Fiona? I thought your mum had raised you better than that – you were always the dutiful one,” and he smirked lewdly at that, and Fiona’s colour and temper went up a notch.
“I didn’t invite you here, Dale, and I thought I made it clear the other morning that I don’t want you around,” she replied pointedly, irritated. “You just turned up...hospitality goes only so far, and you’re not welcome in my house.”
He took a step towards her, his eyes filled with rage and his hands clenched into fists under the overlong shirt he wore, Fiona straightened, her chin rising to his unspoken challenge. She stared directly at Dale, his face was abnormally pale, good grief, was he wearing mascara, eye shadow and face powder as well? Suddenly, she heard a rough growling sound from the front driveway and her gaze flew past Dale and his new creepy girlfriend, to see Trent’s big Harley drive in and pull up at the side of the house.
Dale turned too, and his belligerence seemed to diminish and his shoulders hunch as he watched the tall leather clad figure climb down from the bike and pull off his helmet.
“You okay, Fiona?” Trent asked, as he walked up, easing off his leather gloves.
Fiona nodded, her heart giving an unexpected jump at seeing Trent again.
“Yes, I’m fine,” she replied, “Dale is just going.”
“Good,” he said, going up to Fiona and putting an arm around her waist.
Fiona did not attempt to remove his arm, and just stood quietly next to Trent, even bending her head a little to rest it upon his shoulder. Dale stared at the young couple standing so close together, and then he turned to Helena shrugging his shoulders.
“We are done here,” she said abruptly, her unnaturally pale face cold. “We need to leave,” at the same time motioning to him with one hand. Jerking at her command, Dale turned reluctantly, his eyes promising that this was not the end of the matter. They walked off quickly, suppressed anger evident in every line of Dale’s too pale face and stiffly held body.
Fiona stood for a heartbeat longer in Trent’s arms and then gently moved away.
“Nice type,” Trent said dryly, “Did you say he was your ex-boyfriend? I didn’t know that Emerald Hills had a Goth community here.”
“We don’t...or at least we never used to have one. However, since last year we’ve had all types of weirdos move in.” She stared bewildered at where Dale had been, “He’s changed,” Fiona said shortly, “He wasn’t perfect before, but now...ugh, I scarcely recognise him. He’s grown real mean and nasty.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear he used to be better, for a moment I wondered about your choice in men,” Trent chuckled, and then dodged, grinning as she tried to swat him with her gardening gloves.
She stared out where Dale and Helena had gone, “I asked him why he came around, he said he wanted to show Helena where Jen lived...only he didn’t call her Jen, just insulted her. I called him out on that. Anyway, it just seems so odd, I’ve been here almost six months now and this week is the first time he’s taken an interest in the place. He’s rung a few times, but never called by. I wonder if that woman Helena has something to do with it.”
“I think that tattoo might be part of it,” said Trent quietly and soberly.
“What tattoo?” asked Fiona, “As far as I’m aware Dale doesn’t have any,” she added blushing a little, “At least he had none when I was with him.”
“Well, he’s got one now, and I’m surprised you didn’t notice,” he said gravely, “Although it was partly hidden by his sleeve.”
Fiona’s brow wrinkled, “You’re not trying to tell me he’s got one of those horrible circle ones on the back of his wrist?”
Trent nodded, “I’d lay an even bet that his girlfriend has one too, although hidden by those black gloves she was wearing.”
Fiona shivered a little in the warm noonday sunshine, “What are we talking about here Trent, a cult or secret society?”
“Perhaps, let me think on it, let’s fetch the food I bought from the bike, and then I’ll need to call Bill and give him an update...oh and I bought you a present.”
Fiona followed Trent to where he had parked the Harley, wondering what he meant by a present.
“Here,” he said, tossing her a large and weighty parcel. “I had to drive down the range to Nambour to find them, however it was worth the trip.”
Fiona took the parcel and unwrapped it, inside was a motorbike helmet and a battered leather jacket.
“I’m to wear this?” she asked, amused. “I gather you want me to go riding with you on the Harley.”
“Yup and yup,” he replied with a cheeky grin, “I bought them second hand, so don’t be complaining of the cost. Now try them on to see if they fit.”
With rather a dubious expression on her face, she eased the helmet on. It fit snugly around her head, and she waited whilst Trent adjusted the chinstrap underneath, fitting it to his satisfaction. Fiona then tried on the jacket, it was a size too big for her, but she figured that slightly bigger was better than tight and small.
“I thought we’d do the ride down to the beach tomorrow,” he said. “Riding a Harley on these mountain roads is pretty amazing and I wanted you to experience it first-hand.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you Trent,” Fiona said with a smile as she removed the helmet, and then gave him a quick hug.
Trent hugged her back, his arms lingering a moment, before he too pulled away.
Fiona smiled at him, and then just as quick, frowned.
“Is something the matter?” Trent asked her.
She shook her head, “No, not really, I just was feeling a little unwell before, but now I’m fine. Must have just been too much sun on the back of my neck. Just odd is all.”
“You do look a bit pink,” Trent said, eyeing her off, “Like a beetroot,” he added with a cheeky grin.
Fiona laughed and threw the gardening gloves at him.
*
Lunch proved to be ham and salad rolls bought from the bakery in town, and Fiona eyed with cheery anticipation the large lumps of rump steak that Trent had pulled out of a couple of plastic bags.
“I figured you weren’t a vegetarian after you wolfed down that bacon and eggs this morning,” he grinned, “Being a country girl, you’d appreciate a good bit of meat.”
Fiona coloured and laughed at that and nodded, “That I do, so what are we having with it?”
“Oh, usual pub fare, salad, chips, bit of dressing,” he glanced at her, “I’m not a creative cook so I bought this as well,” he grinned as he brought out a small glass bottle of salad dressing and several large potatoes, as well as a bottle of white wine.
She stared at the four large cuts of rump steak that he was lying flat on a plate before covering it with plastic wrap, “We going to eat all that?”
He shook his head as he packed the meat away in the refrigerator, “I ran into Deven and Olivia in town, they’re coming here mid-afternoon to do some filming and I kinda invited them to stay on for dinner,” he grinned a little embarrassed, “I hope you don’t mind?”
“You’re the cook,” she reminded him with a shrug, “If you don’t mind it’s cool by me.”
Trent smiled, “Did you get all your gardening done?”
“Most of it,” she explained. “The plants are in and watered, just have to do the borders and make a trellis for the beans and tomatoes. I will drive out a bit later; want to pick up a safe for the house. I’m not comfortable about the glasses and watch being stored in a cardboard box and I’d feel happy if they were a bit more secure.”
“So what happens when you put on the glasses?” Trent asked curiously.
“I’m not really sure,” she said, “I think what I saw was fairyland, or at least the dimension that the Fae normally inhabit. It was very colourful,” she said, remembering with a pained shudder, “And it gave me a shocker of a migraine afterwards. I was sick for hours. I don’t think our minds or eyes are meant to see it – anyway Jen gave me this,” and she lifted her pendant from under her t-shirt. “Supposedly, it’s Fae crafted, but I’m not sure what it’s meant to do, I guess it’s a protective charm as I’m better able to handle seeing the Fae with it on.”
“You’re Sighted as well!” he exclaimed amazed, “Did that come on from living here at Jen’s place?”
“It’s my place now,” she said bristling a little, “Anyway, I don’t think so, my Gran was Sighted, and Jen said that I was as well, but in a minor way; this necklace I believe is strengthening my Sight, so I can see the Fae.”
“But we all saw them last night,” Trent said.
“Yeah,” she nodded, “I’m still trying to work out what actually happened then, I think that stag man opened up a rift in our dimension to bring them across and allow them to be seen by mortals.”
“The stag man,” Trent shook his head, “That creature was incredible. Look, do you have a computer; I’d like to do a bit of research into the faeries whilst I’m here.”
Fiona nodded, “I do, although the internet speed is pretty pathetic. The laptop is in the office, give me a moment to turn it on and get the internet working.”
“Lunch first,” Trent said, handing her a salad roll, “Then I’ll do some research and you can finish your gardening...with a hat on this time!”
*
Fiona was in the middle of tying up a trellis over her new seedlings when she heard a car drive up and then heard car doors slam and the distant hum of voices. Standing and straightening, she brushed away some beads of perspiration, unwittingly leaving a smear of reddish dirt across her face.
Turning, she saw Deven walk down towards her, with a young woman of about twenty years. Fiona assumed the woman was Deven’s girlfriend who had driven up to the Hinterlands.
“Fiona!” Deven called out, “How are you?”
“Good,” she replied, pulling off her gardening gloves.
“This is Olivia Price,” he said, introducing the tall slender girl with the short spiked dark hair and hazel eyes.
“G’day,” said Fiona, holding out her hand. “Did you have a good drive up?”
Olivia nodded, and Fiona felt her hand being warmly shaken.
“Where’s Trent?” Deven asked, looking around.
“Inside,” Fiona answered, “Doing some research on the computer.”
“Did our visitors from yesterday appear?” asked Deven hopefully.
Fiona shook her head, “Nah, it’s been quiet today.”
“Damn,” swore Deven, “I’d hoped to get some more paranormal footage. Ah well, backgrounds will have to do. Is it okay if we start filming?”
Fiona shrugged, “Go ahead; as long as I’m not in it, you can film whatever you want.”
“Shy?” asked Olivia quietly, her voice low and husky with just a trace of an English accent.
“Not really,” Fiona replied, “Just don’t want to be involved more than I already am. Besides, I need to head into town for a bit.”
“Okay,” Deven said, nodding, “Olivia love, let’s go find Trent and we’ll get some footage out here.”
Fiona watched the other two walk inside the house, and sighing, pulled off her gardening gloves. A quick wash up would suffice and then a drive into town to buy a small safe.
*
“So how was your night?” Deven asked Trent with a conspiratorial wink and grin.
Trent turned on the old padded leather swivel chair to face Deven.
“Quiet, except for getting woken up at dawn by just about every species of bird you could imagine,” Trent replied, “No, nothing happened. Fiona is one of those rare species; an old fashioned country girl.” He grinned, “Although I did meet the ex-boyfriend this morning, so evidently she’s not that old fashioned.”
“What’s he like?” asked Deven, running his eyes curiously around the many book titles in the bookshelves.
Trent pursed his lips, “Bit of a tosser if you ask me, I’ve run into his type before - all teeth and snarl, yet weak as water if you stand up to them, just your garden variety bully.” He grinned wolfishly, “I didn’t think I’d be running into Goths up here on the Hinterland, yet here they were kitted out in black and looking like they’d just stepped out of some nightclub in town; I tell you it was a bizarre sight for a Saturday morning.”
“They?” Deven asked.
“He had some girl with him, a poor man’s Elvira Mistress of the Dark clone...without the cleavage,” he added with a grin.
Deven chuckled at the imagery.
“Where’s Olivia?” Trent asked, “I thought I heard her voice?”
“Bathroom,” Deven explained.
“Ah,” Trent turned and pointed to the laptop screen, “Take a look at this Deven, do you recognise this?”
Deven leaned over to check out the website Trent had up, “Sure do, it’s that Fae thing from last night, what did Jen call it – the Great Hunter.”
Trent nodded, “Otherwise known as Herne the Hunter, Cernunnos, Hub Gadara, the great horned God of Celtic mythology, a very archaic deity that has been found in many European cultures.”
“Deity? Are we really talking about a god?” Deven asked.
“Worshipped as such,” agreed Trent as he scrolled down the website page with the mouse, “There are numerous sites on this guy, mostly druidic, although belief in him seems to predate the Druids, even going back to stone-age times.”
Deven stared in fascination, “So you reckon everything we filmed last year was the Fae, not paranormal?”
“Well, they seem to be one and the same,” Trent replied. “It seems that pagan belief in fairies goes back a very long time. As to what they are,” he shrugged, “What did Ionuin say last night...”
“Elemental powers given form by humanity,” Deven said with a nervous shudder. “It makes sense if you think about it. That Herne guy, fuck, all I wanted to do was hide under the table, and did you see his penis, he had a stiffy as big as my arm...”
Deven choked on his words, aware too that the mere recollection of the Hunter had brought on a faint sheen of nervous sweat across his body.
Trent shook his head remembering,” Yeah, well, we both saw it. Herne was seriously male, yet oddly not male at the same time. I could just imagine him being dreamt into existence by our cavemen ancestors.”
He fell silent for a moment, and then continued on, “So we give them form, and what do they give us?” Trent shrugged to himself, “Ionuin inferred that we are made spiritual beings through the Fae – I don’t know about you Deven, I’m sure that information would upset most of the world’s religions,” he frowned and his voice grew tight, “Most of them seem to believe that they have a monopoly on eternal life, and life after death.”
He paused again, confused at why he felt so annoyed about this, “Many religions seem not to trade in spirituality; instead they are into politics, activism, the latest cause – they’ve lost the plot.”
“You’re angry,” Deven observed wonderingly, “I’ve never known you to get so angry about religion. I thought you were an atheist.”
Trent grunted, staring again at the image of Cernunnos on the screen, “I’m more properly agnostic, although after what happened last night, I’m tempted to believe that there really is something out there.” He turned to Deven, “How many truly spiritual people have you met lately.”
Deven grinned, “I don’t recollect the last time I was in church. Someone’s wedding I think.”
“For me it was Mum and Dad’s funeral,” Trent said quietly, a shadow passing over his face. “Seventeen years ago and I’ve not darkened a church door since. However, I’m not talking about formal religion; that to me is all about doctrine - I’m talking about spirituality, a belief in something greater than we all are. Now that seems rare, and even when you think about spirituality in religion, you still end up tangled in doctrine. It’s when one lot of believers reckon the next lot are wrong and going to Hell because their holy book says one thing, whilst the others’ holy book says something similar, but not really, and wars are fought, and innocents murdered, all because people disagree about specifics.”
Trent sat back in the chair and sighed, “I don’t see much spirituality in that do you?”
Deven shook his head, “Now that you point it out, no,” he admitted, “Although I’ve not really thought about it much to be honest.”
“Which is precisely the state of mind of most of the human race,” Trent added. “People going about their daily lives, blindly bumping into walls, trying to pay off the mortgage, saving for the latest stuff, the latest holiday or bowed into working servitude by the endless bills; we’ve all been there, and to be frank, it is pretty shallow when you think about it.”
He pondered the computer screen, “Even the ones who get worked up about issues, those who give a damn are just pawns, manipulated by the higher ups in their religions, political parties, in order to do what? To get more money, more power; it is soul destroying is what it is, it’s like humanity has lost its way.”
“Is this the despair that elf-guy was talking about?” Deven asked.
“Could be part of it,” Trent replied, “All I’m guessing is that humanity seems to be on the fast track to darkness and nihilism, and it may be that we are taking the Fae with us on the way down.”
“I reckon there is more to it,” said a voice from the door. All three swung around to see Fiona, her handbag slung over her shoulder. “I agree with what you are saying,” she added, “But something lately has made it all get worse. It’s like that guy at Alexandra Headlands last weekend. He didn’t seem to care if he died, and he didn’t seem to care if I lived or died either.” She reached into her bag and took out her car keys, “The tattoo I reckon is the key, find that and you might find the answer.”
“Bill will know,” Trent said, “I’ll try calling him again. I couldn’t raise him earlier.”
*