Miss Landon and Aubranael (Tales of Aylfenhame Book 1) (3 page)

The fine weather lifted her spirits as she walked, and the breeze cleared her head. She had spent the morning housekeeping, a process which always left her feeling disheartened: for all her efforts and care, she often felt that she created as many problems as she solved, and left more work for Mary and Thundigle to do. But there had been such an excess of work to be done that she had been left with no choice but to do her best. Now, towards the end of a trying morning, a visit to Balligumph was very welcome indeed; he always had a smile and a jest for her, and cheered her considerably.

Thundigle had retired an hour ago, back to wherever it was that he lived when he wasn’t at the parsonage. She was a little surprised, therefore, to find him waiting for her when she reached the bridge.

‘Miss Sophy,’ he said, offering a polite bow. ‘I hope the labours of the day have not left you too fatigued.’

‘Not at all, I thank you,’ she said, frowning in puzzlement. ‘What brings you to the bridge today?’

He opened his black eyes wide in surprise. ‘Why, Mr. Balligumph particularly requested my presence.’

His manner suggested that the matter ought to be clear to her, which only puzzled her more. But then Balli himself clambered into view and sat weightily down, and she directed a smile at him instead. ‘Mr. Balligumph, I hope I am not too late. There was a great deal of work to be done this morning, as Thundigle will tell you.’

‘Not at all, Miss Sophy,’ he rumbled. ‘Yer timin’ could scarcely be better, in fact, as it’s taken me much o’ the mornin’ t’secure this pretty.’ He held up something that twinkled in the sun, and offered it to Sophy.

She took it a little doubtfully. It was a glass sphere, just big enough to fit into her curled hand. At first she could see nothing remarkable about it—nothing at all to explain why Balli had gone to such lengths to find and present it to her. But as she held it, a spark of light grew in its depths until it began to shine in more colours than Sophy could count.

‘Balli… what is this?’

He winked. ‘A bundle o’ feisty entertainment, Miss. Now, I want you to go a little way yonder—’ he pointed out into the fields—‘an’ let it go. An’ then ye must follow my little chap wherever he goes—don’t let him out o’ your sight! Thundigle will be goin’ along t’mind ye.’

Sophy’s gaze strayed back to the little ball of shifting light in her hand, and she stared at it, half mesmerised. ‘Let it go?’ she repeated. ‘But I do not
wish
to let it go.’

‘It will be worth yer while to do so, that I promise.’

Sophy blinked and shook her head, breaking the strange trance. ‘It sounds as though this may take some time, and I have not much to spare this afternoon. I shall come back on the morrow.’ She directed a smile at Balligumph and started to thank him, but the genial troll was shaking his great head.

‘Ye must do it today or not at all!’

Sophy wanted to object; his words made no sense, and her own arrangements seemed considerably more logical. But she would have to trust him. He had never led her astray before, nor would he now. She nodded, and clutched the sphere more tightly, afraid to drop it too soon. ‘Thank you,’ she said with a smile. ‘I am not sure what I am thanking you for, but I am much obliged to you for your kindness.’

The troll winked and cocked his head in the direction of the fields. ‘Ye’ll soon find out, Missy. Off wi’ ye now.’

Sophy curtseyed by way of reply, and crossed the bridge. ‘Off after her now, Mr. Thundigle,’ she heard Balli say. ‘An’ mind ye keep up!’

Thundigle’s quick, light steps came pattering after her. ‘Not too fast, Miss Sophy!’ he called.

Sophy tried to slow down, but a strange kind of eagerness had seized her as she crossed the bridge and she began to hurry along. Before she could think about dropping the sphere, it jerked itself out of her hands; but it did not fall instantly to the floor, as she might logically expect. Instead it rose up into the air and floated away, streaming light and colour as it went.

‘A will-o-the-wyke!’ Sophy realised, her heart beating faster at the thought. All the folk of Tilby knew never to follow a will-o-the-wyke, if one chanced to encounter such a thing, for they were notoriously mischievous and known to lead unwary folk astray. But Balli obviously trusted this one… she stepped quickly after it.

‘Slow down just a little, Miss Sophy!’ Thundigle called, and she tried, but her feet had rejected her command and now followed some other purpose. The wind picked up, catching at her clothes and her hair, and the sky clouded over, hiding the golden spring sun. The wisp shone still brighter in response, its colours growing more brilliant in the deepening gloom. When a white mist came rolling in, the wisp shone against the background of thickening fog like a tiny multi-coloured sun. Her heart beating fast with excitement and alarm, Sophy could look at nothing else.

She heard a stifled curse as Thundigle caught up with her, panting and wheezing, and collided with her legs. He clutched at her skirts as the mist began to clear, revealing a green landscape.

At first, she noticed nothing amiss. A field of flourishing grain stretched ahead of her; the sun shone overhead in wide blue skies; her nostrils detected the fresh and floral spring fragrances that she loved.

But as she stood, dazed and blinking, the differences began to intrude themselves upon her notice. The tall, waving crop in the field around her was of no variety that she recognised, and tinged besides with a hint of blue. She inhaled a lungful of air, rich and heady with a pungency of fragrance that made her head spin. A gust of wind brought with it the sound of distant bells; no church bells, these, but a melodic chiming that had never reached her ears before. Even the air tasted rich, like honey on her tongue.

‘Mr. Thundigle,’ she said slowly, ‘this is not Tilby.’

Thundigle was grumbling crossly under his breath, but now he spoke up. ‘How like a troll! A fine trick, to send an unsuspecting human across with only a brownie to guide her steps—and without even a word of warning to the lady beforehand! Without asking her leave! Why, it is so—so very—’

‘It is of no particular matter,’ Sophy interjected.

‘—so very RUDE!’ Thundigle finished.

‘The manners of a goat, and twice the hair,’ Sophy agreed, with a wry smile. ‘He said it himself!’

Thundigle continued to bristle. ‘Of all the hare-brained, empty-headed, sap-skulled notions to spring on a helpless young lady…’ Thundigle began to stamp in circles, shaking his head and working himself up into a fine rage.

Sophy put out her hands, alarmed. ‘Stop! There is no harm done; I am sure Mr. Balligumph had a good reason for acting as he has done, though it may not be clear to either of us just yet. And I, dear Thundigle, am hardly helpless.’

Thundigle subsided, though the sceptical look he bestowed upon her at her closing statement was not entirely flattering. Sophy let this pass.

‘What we need to do,’ she said reasonably, ‘is remain calm.’ Her words belied the flutter she was in, for to find herself inexplicably
elsewhere,
without warning and with no obvious means of return, alarmed her more than a little. She took a few deep breaths to soothe her rapidly beating heart—noticing anew the peculiar fragrance of the air, and the way her head swam under the influence of it—and looked around. ‘I wish Balli had given some idea of what he meant for us to do,’ she added.

Thundigle occupied himself with straightening his cravat, and said nothing.

‘We are in Aylfenhame, are we not?’ Sophy hazarded. Aylfenhame was the name given to the lands that mirrored the mortal worlds—home of Thundigle’s people, and Balligumph’s, and many another creature from the stories of Sophy’s childhood. Some of its denizens migrated across to the human world, making their homes anew around human hearths (and bridges). Most chose to remain.

‘The Faerie realm,’ Thundigle said with a sigh. ‘Yes, ‘tis to Aylfenhame we are come. And don’t you run away being all delighted,’ he added, eyeing Sophy with grave disapproval. ‘Tis perilous, and we must take care.’

Sophy turned in a circle, shading her eyes from the sun. All around her she saw neatly-tended fields, well-kept hedgerows and, in the distance, a collection of rooftops. ‘Perilous? It looks perfectly harmless to me.’

‘That’s the crossing,’ the brownie replied, nodding wisely. ‘The Humanfolk are remarkably good at self-deception; ‘tis a known fact in Faerie. What you are seeing is—mostly—what you expect to see. Fields, farms and so on, yes? That will change.’

Sophy did not like the sound of this, but she swallowed her disquiet. Balligumph had no logical reason to wish her harm; quite the contrary. So he must intend for something good to happen to her in this place. ‘He has sent you along as my guide, has he not? Then please: by all means, lead on!’

Thundigle grumbled a little, but he set off in the direction of the rooftops Sophy had seen. Putting aside her fears, Sophy followed.

She soon realised that Thundigle’s prediction had been perfectly accurate. As they walked, colours shifted in her vision; shapes turned fluid and reformed; the light changed, scents grew stronger and more alien and strange sounds began to reach her ears. Gradually, bit by bit, the pretty fields faded away, the hedgerows disappeared, and Sophy found that she was walking through a meadow of golden grass, peppered with luxuriant, sweet-smelling blooms and buzzing with colourful insects. As they drew nearer to the rooftops, Sophy saw that they were not neat tile, as she had thought, but instead composed of grey wood topped with erratic thatch, the likes of which she had never seen before. A sloping hill stretched away to her left, sparsely dotted with gnarled silver-barked trees with abundant foliage. As the branches swayed in the breeze, she realised that here was the source of the chiming she had heard. Someone had decked the branches which coloured ribbons and dozens of silver-and-gold bells.

‘Beltane,’ Thundigle said when she pointed them out. He offered no further explanation, and his mood being evidently still poor, Sophy asked no further questions.

A few minutes of brisk walking—brisk to Thundigle, at least—brought them to the edge of the village Sophy had seen from a distance. They passed through a stone gate just wide enough for perhaps three humans to walk abreast. Over the gate hung a neatly-painted sign announcing the name ‘Grenlowe’.

‘Grenlowe?’ Sophy wondered aloud. ‘That’s the name of this town?’

‘Yes. I can only imagine that Mr. Balligumph meant for me to bring you here, though I know not why.’

Sophy looked around with great interest. She saw at once why Balli had sent Thundigle with her, instead of accompanying her himself: Grenlowe was far from spacious. Its buildings were small, its streets narrow, its doorways and gates sized with more diminutive folk in mind. This was no home for folk of Balli’s size.

The town was enchanting, and she soon forgot her fears and even her confusion in enjoyment. Nothing was ever planned in Grenlowe, that she could judge; most of the houses she passed appeared to have started out as a single room, and others had been haphazardly piled around and on top as they were needed. They were thatched in erratic patterns, like a head of tumbled curls; most were built from stone or grey wood, with small, paned windows bright with colour.

‘Why are all the windows frosted over?’ she whispered to Thundigle.

‘The people of Grenlowe value their privacy,’ he answered.

Sophy frowned, noting that most of the frosted-glass windows also had shutters and curtains. Privacy was
deeply
valued, she concluded, and immediately felt uncomfortable for staring. But the curtains were brightly coloured, and the shutters cheerfully painted; the overall effect was more welcoming than otherwise.

When they reached a village square—passing numerous houses, small shops and inns along the way—they encountered a market in full swing. Sophy was delighted; everywhere she looked her eager eye discovered ribbons, fabrics, foods and myriad goods, each more riotously coloured than the last. But Thundigle stopped her.

‘Careful, Miss Sophy,’ he said in an undertone. ‘I advise against looking too closely.’

‘But whyever not?’

‘Things aren’t always as they seem in Aylfenhame, remember? For certain you should not eat anything here, for if it does you no other harm, it may oblige you to stay. It changes you.’

Sophy had not time to answer. As they entered the market, only then had it struck her how few other folk she had seen in the streets of Grenlowe. They were all
here
, bargaining and buying, jostling and pushing each other, and Sophy along with them. She saw goblins and brownies like Thundigle, stocky gnomes in colourful overalls, nymphs and sprites and many other creatures she did not recognise. Some wore rags; others wore finery more splendid than anything Sophy had seen before.

She noticed many folk who looked human, too, except for a slight point to their ears, shades of blue, green and purple in their hair, and eyes coloured like earth and trees and meadows of flowers. Their skin ranged in hue from palest white through to deep, dark brown. These were the Ayliri, she realised: the ruling class of Aylfenhame by right of beauty, and birth, and power.

All seemed equally eager to acquire the proffered wares, rich and raggity alike. As Sophy fought to keep her feet in the crush and to remain near Thundigle, someone thrust an enchanting little cake under her nose. It was the colour of summer sunshine, and it sparkled with flecks of gold as the vendor turned it for her perusal. She smelled honey and nectar and at least a dozen other heavenly things.

‘Sun cakes!’ bawled a scratchety voice immediately next to her ear. ‘Sun cakes, fresh! Going fast! Hurry!’

Mindful of Thundigle’s warning, Sophy tried to turn away, but the beauty of the little cake held her. She inhaled another lungful of the delicious aroma, wondering if she had money enough in her purse for the treat.

‘Sun cakes!’ bawled the vendor again, and the cake was withdrawn. ‘Fine spirits and good moods for a week; that’s a guarantee!’

Dismayed, Sophy looked around for the seller, already reaching into her reticule for her purse.