by Jeromy Henry
I nearly swerved off the highway.
A figure stood on the shoulder. It wore a black robe full of tatters and rips. I saw a spot of darkness instead of a face beneath its black hood. A rusty sickle blade at least three feet long stuck from the side of a seven-foot shaft in the stranger’s hand. Tendrils of white, like spider webs or brides’ veils, stuck to the blade and waved in the breeze.
The figure raised its hand. The sleeve slipped back to reveal white bone. A few patches of brown flesh clung stubbornly to the skeletal fingers. One finger crooked.
My arms spasmed on the wheel. Tires screamed and the car started sliding. I stomped on the brake, yanked the wheel to the left to avoid the ditch, and zoomed within inches of the figure. The tattered robe blew to the side, but whatever inhabited the garment did not even step back. The horn blared as my chest slammed with bruising force into the wheel, and the car slowed to a stop on the shoulder.
I smelled rot and the perfume of a garden after rain. The hood leaned over and peered into the mud-streaked passenger window. Bone fingers clacked against the door pull.
I shook with adrenaline and shock. I panted like a dog and rubbed my sore chest. For a minute, not a single coherent thought made its way out of my brain factory, just kaleidoscopic whirls and flashes of light. But when the car door creaked, I whimpered in fear and tried to stomp on the accelerator. Nothing happened.
I shouted and kicked with all my might at the pedal, but it didn’t budge, even though the engine purred and chugged and all the dials on the dash lit up. Whispering folds of rotted robe piled on the cracked tan leather of the seat, and the scent of earth grew stronger. The hood leaned closer and closer to my face as the figure climbed in the car. I clawed at my seat belt, but the catch stuck. I huddled as far away from the horror in the other seat as possible.
“I’m not here for you,” said Death. His voice sounded like a dozen men whispering all at once through scratched and burned throats.
“Um, yeah,” I said. I uncurled and sat up. I eyed the scythe in Death’s right hand. I wondered if he could swing it in the cramped cabin of the car. He reached over with his left hand and slammed his door shut with a thud.
Death filled up my passenger seat. His head bumped against the roof. The robe slithered everywhere and constantly shifted, as if it were full of snakes or flapped in an unfelt wind. His chest rose and fell with a faint whistle. The shadows in the car could not explain the utter darkness beneath his hood, and the sight caused icy prickles to run up my arms; it evoked all the deepest nightmares of children left alone in dark rooms. I scrunched over as far as possible.
“Drive, Charles Emerson Savage,” whispered Death.
“You know my name?” I asked. My jaw probably flapped open, but luckily, I couldn’t see myself just then.
“I know everyone,” Death whispered.
“Where to?” I asked. My voice squeaked and broke. “I wasn’t… going anywhere.”
“That’s why I chose you,” said Death. “I will tell you when to turn.”
I caught a glimpse of myself in the side mirror, and shuddered. My face looked as pale as Death’s hands, aside from a few red blotches on my cheeks and forehead. The angular cheeks and pointy chin made me look like an elf boy on good days. Now, my face looked like part of a chalk cliff. I could see my hand shake as it swept aside a curtain of sticky blond hair. My blue eyes looked glassy, and they opened too wide. I tried to control my breathing.
I worked the clutch and flipped down the left blinker. I cautiously tapped the accelerator with one grubby white tennis shoe, and this time the car purred and rolled forward. Gravel crackled underneath us as I pulled onto the road.
When I had started out from my parents’ house in the foothills of the Rockies, I just wanted to enjoy the early August night. Purple and orange tinged the tops of the mountains and the evergreens. I reveled in the warm breeze that whistled through windows half rolled down. A song throbbed on the radio. Above the muted ambience of drums and strummed guitars, I heard the purr of eight cylinders that jogged beneath the sculpted purple hood of my 70′s Jaguar. I had just bought the thing, and wanted to cruise as much as possible.
Now, the black velvet artwork of the stars and moon glowed overhead. I killed the radio with a stab of my thumb. The song didn’t seem appropriate. The wind began to bite, so I turned the crank to roll up my window.
“Could you, uh…” I said.
Death cranked up his window. I turned my head away from the worsening smell. The goose bumps on my arms relaxed.
I tried to think of small talk, but nothing sprang to mind. What do you say to Death? “So, do you like your job?” or “How are the kids?” didn’t strike me as good conversation openers.
Death spoke. “Don’t you love autumn? All the crisp leaves beneath your feet, the smell of old earth and pumpkins, all those little things dying.” He gave a windy sigh.
“Er, yeah,” I said. “Autumn’s my favorite season.” Or it was, I added silently.
Then Death started humming, an inane, wandering sort of tune that belonged on a sappy kid’s cartoon. I gritted my teeth, but didn’t dare tell the hitchhiker to stop. My nerves stretched taut, like a slingshot going back… back…
After only a few minutes of musical torture, Death started to chuckle instead. It sounded like rusty canisters clattering downhill. Death lifted a bony digit and pointed to the right.
“Turn,” he said.
I stomped the brake and squinted into the darkness. I turned right onto a narrow farm road. The car bumped and groaned as it dipped into potholes. Gravel crunched. Pine branches leaned over a rusty wire fence and smacked the windshield. I saw a barn or a house here and there through the masses of black trees as we crept along.
“That clearing. Stop,” whispered Death.
I pulled off through a break in the trees and into a meadow. A big hill rose to our left, and pines ringed the clearing. My seatbelt catch worked this time, and the doors squeaked open. We stepped out into the cool night. I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself. A sharp wind cut through my red checked flannel shirt and holey jeans.
Grass grew up to my knees. Wildflowers waved pink and yellow heads here and there and drank in the moonlight. The sickle moon hung overhead and washed the land with recycled light.
Thunder rumbled, and a grey cloud skidded over the moon. Pine boughs rustled and bowed to each other as the wind asked them to dance. An electric charge hummed in the air. I could almost imagine crackling lines of blue arcing between the drops of dew-filled evening.
“It is time,” said Death. “They’ve hidden so long!”
I was going to ask him what he meant, but a crack split the night, and a golden zigzag appeared in the air. It widened, and brilliant summer light flooded out of the crack and washed over the grass. Death pushed my left shoulder, and I winced as sharp finger bones dug into muscle. Warm blood trickled inside my shirt and down to the small of my back. The crack widened still more, the flap of a tent made for giants, until it turned into a triangle nine feet high and a dozen feet wide.
“Go,” said Death.
He prodded me again. My feet didn’t feel quite connected to my head as I stumbled forward. I blinked in a sudden rush of dazzling sunshine.
A master vintner had distilled all the summer days that ever were into one warm, heavy breath of air, and I took a deep drink. I smiled and laughed as a sense of peace overwhelmed my body and mind. I didn’t worry anymore about where we were, or how we’d gotten there. Every nerve and muscle relaxed, and I fell to my knees amidst the pale fingers of yellow grass. They rustled in welcome as I fell. I unbuttoned my flannel over-shirt and let it fall, and turned my face up to drink in the sunshine again.
A road of white stone wound from the tear in the air, up a hill a mile distant, and ended at the gates of a castle. Slender spires with witches’ hat tops rose high above the crenellations, and crimson pennants flapped lazily on every artificial peak. The castle stone had the quality of freshly-carved elephant tusk, delicate and full of rich grains and subtle hues of yellow and blue.
Death and I stood on a park below the castle hill, dotted here and there with oaks and maples. The air felt heavy, and only the faintest breath of breeze rustled the leaves every minute or two. White cotton clouds floated in a cerulean sky. Small flowers of spun silver and copper peeked up through the immaculate grass carpet. I had a curious sensation, as if I looked at the scene through glass, or as if a thin watercolor wash lay over a picture still wet from the creator’s brush.
A unicorn stepped out from between a pair of forest giants. The white beast outmatched all that fantasy artists imagined. Their renditions couldn’t capture the rainbow sparkle that washed over the snowy pelt or the golden radiance of its horn. Daffodils and lilies, sweet white roses, and purple peonies fountained up in the unicorn’s wake, bounties of bouquets that exuded a sweet perfume. I could smell the medley a hundred yards away. The unicorn bowed its head to Death. I thought it looked sad.
Fae of all sizes flew or walked from the trees. They dressed in leaves or dresses made from flowers. Some tiny fae could have perched on my hand. They buzzed aloft on wings of orange, blue, purple, green, and yellow. Other faeries stood tall as men. They looked me in the eye with big, sad, liquid jewels of amethyst and emerald, sapphire and diamond.
A tall lady in the center caught my attention. Her ears tapered to slender points and stuck out farther than a human’s. Enormous eyes drew me into their violet depths. She wore a dress of daffodil petals, sewn together by spider web thread, and decorated with rows of peonies. Fluted sleeves showed off the hands of a violinist. A hem sewn with heavy white rosebuds swirled around silver sandals. The sheer dress hid nothing, and behind the fabric window, a graceful figure curved in ways that left my mouth dry. A silver tiara held back an auburn tumble of hair, and ruby and diamonds sparkled amidst the wire knots.
I suppose I fell in love at first sight. I had longed for magic all my life, and felt empty and disappointed every time I woke to find that my illusions evaporated with dawn. This place filled me with joy, with the promise of eternal warmth and summer and rest, with beauty beyond compare that could not fade or tarnish. I started to walk towards her, as if in a trance, or a dream.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Death reach through a rent in his cloak. He pulled forth a cracked and dirty leather bag. Skeletal hands pulled the drawstrings open. Death held the bag out in front of him.
I shivered and grabbed my shirt from the ground, my fascination with the fae momentarily broken by a sudden burst of cold. I nearly jumped back when I noticed frost tinge the top of the grass. As I slipped my arms through my shirt sleeves, I saw frost creep across the lawn, up the trees, and over the tableaux of fae. None of them spoke a word. Their eyes held glimmers of unshed tears, and not one smiled. The sun overhead dimmed. I felt confused, and the euphoria of elfin summer drained away.
“Wait,” I said to Death. “You can’t do this!” I circled around and looked at his hood. I still couldn’t see within it.
“It is their time,” whispered Death.
I tried to grab the bag, but it burned my fingers. I cried out. I jumped back, shaking icicles off my stinging hands. I tried to grab the bag again, but it didn’t budge. I had to let go when ice covered my hands like mittens, and I couldn’t feel them anymore. I beat my hands against the ground, and the ice cracked loose.
I glanced over my shoulder and saw a filthy sky full of ash and smoke. The sky darkened. The wind howled. White frost covered everything now, and falling snow made a curtain between me and the fae. I saw a faint twist of air above the sack, a tornado made of silken strands and snow. I lunged for the bag again, tears freezing on my face, but the wind shoved me back. I cradled my hands to my chest and lay for a minute and whimpered.
I jerked upright and crossed my arms in front of my face to protect against the blizzard. I staggered over to the fae.
“Please, is there any way I can help you?” I asked the lady with the tiara. I guessed she was their Queen.
She smiled sadly. “Perhaps there is some small task you can do for me.” I could barely hear her bell-like voice above the wind’s howl.
“What? I’ll do anything!” I said.
She smiled, and my breath caught. Those long fingers reached up to rest lightly on my shoulders, and her perfect smile leaned closer. I smelled lilacs and honey, woman and summer. The kiss felt like a warm rose crushed to my lips. A jolt ran through me, and I barely noticed her fingers slip off.
“You’ll know what to do when the time comes,” she said, and closed her eyes.
I saw the white Queen turn into a sculpture of snow, or ash, or the dust of pearls. The wind blew dust away in a steady stream and left a featureless pillar that grew smaller and smaller. I reached out and grabbed a handful of the stuff. I don’t know why I did it. Maybe I just wanted to have something, anything, to remind me of her. Rainbow radiance played over the dust as it slipped through my fingers. I poured the handful in my shirt pocket and buttoned the flap.
The unicorn bowed its head and withered away like the Queen. Other fae closed their eyes and joined the swirling flakes of Death’s winter. Within a minute, snow drifts lay all around, and Death and I stood by ourselves in a faint silver triangle of light. The wind died, and the flakes ceased to fall.
I realized with a start that all the light around us came from the moon back home. The great lamp of the Land of Summer had blown out.
Death closed the sack and stowed it in his robes. He gripped my shoulder with a skeletal vise. I wiped my eyes with my left hand and tried to jerk away, but I couldn’t move.
“Perhaps you think me evil,” said Death. He laughed, that horrible rusty laugh, and rage filled me. I glared at the monster in the black robe. I wanted so badly to hit him, but a glance at the rusty scythe cooled my rage. Death hadn’t even noticed my attempts to take the bag. I had no weapon, and I doubted my lame attempts at karate would impress him.
Death tugged me back to the clearing on Earth. I dug in my heels, but it did no good. The portal to Faerie faded into nothing when we crossed through. It left no trace in the ever-changing canvas of the air. When I looked around, I saw the stars of Earth, the pines, the distant mountain peaks, and the asphalt road full of potholes. Everything looked dull to me after the magic of Faerie. My head ached. I breathed the cold autumn air and buried my head in my hands. I felt confused. The lady had said I could do something for her, but I had accomplished nothing!
“No one hides from me, not forever,” whispered Death.
I balled my fists. Perhaps I could tackle Death and snatch the bag, I thought. But I doubted that just opening the sack would bring back the dead. Despair settled on me, heavy and ugly as Death’s cloak.
“If you had not helped me find the door, someone else would have. Others have elven blood in their veins,” said Death.
The revelation about my ancestry didn’t surprise me. Maybe I just felt too numb.
The pressure on my shoulder eased. I didn’t see the black-cloaked figure anywhere when I turned around or smell the scents of earth and mold. It just smelled like any other late summer night, full of musky pines and a faint chill. I jerked open the car door with a creak and slumped into the seat. I threw my head back and stared at the faded tan fabric of the ceiling for a long time. I counted holes and followed threads that lead nowhere. Something empty, black, and frozen sat in the center of my chest. I just couldn’t believe I’d found real magic, and lost it again in the space of an hour.
Something wiggled in my pocket. I grabbed at the flap.
“Ow! Lay off, you big monkey!” shouted a tinny little voice.
I unbuttoned the pocket, and a fairy zoomed out.
She stood in midair. Her pale yellow butterfly wings flapped lazily, but I guessed that the faint golden glow around her is what really let her hover. The redhead put her hands on her hips and stared at me. Though she measured only a couple of inches from head to foot, she filled out her dress of green silk quite nicely. Emerald eyes sparkled.
“Well, I guess you’ll do, monkey,” she said. I could barely hear the faint voice. She darted forward, and I felt two tiny feet settle on my shoulder.
“How did you survive?” I asked. The cold feeling evaporated a bit as I realized that Death didn’t have everything his own way. The wonder at magic returned, and I laughed out loud.
A tiny little vise pinched my earlobe, and the voice yelled, “Stop it!”
I chuckled, but quit shaking the rider on my shoulder. “Sorry, I’m just glad he didn’t get all of you.”
“Me too!” said the voice. The grip on my ear eased. “We pulled a switcheroo when you picked up that dust. It was faintly magic, and Death was too busy to notice someone as small as me hitching a ride. You have magic too, and that helped.”
“I do?” I asked.
“Were you born dense or are you just play acting? Of course you’re part fae. But you’ll need a teacher if we’re going to do any good.”
I looked at my new friend with an inquisitive raise of an eyebrow.
“Hrmph!” the fairy said. “I guess someone’s got to do it.”
I thought of my engineering classes at Colorado Tech. I liked the place well enough, but the opportunity to study magic lit a wild fire in my heart. The sense of wonder and the longing I had felt every day of my life rose up like a giddy wave. I’m pretty sure a goofy smile lit my face. I had felt complete when I stood in Faerie for the first time, and now I felt the same way again.
“I’d like that,” I said. I tried to sound nonchalant. “When do we start?”
© 2011 Jeromy Henry
Original fiction debuting at Residential Aliens.
Tags: fantasy, Jeromy Henry, short story