Story: Part Two

 They were transported to the castle in the back of a cart. It was definitely more of a cart than a carriage. It had some cushions and benches to sit on but no more luxury than that. There had been a lot of discussion between Robin and the man in charge, not that Hazel could follow what they were saying, since she didn't understand Elvish and was still feeling the effects of the crossing anyway. Robin had managed to convince them that they weren't a threat, although her sickness may have done most of the work. They weren’t being treated as prisoners exactly, but she didn't think they would have been given much of a choice of where to go, even if they knew what the options were. Half the guards were escorting them, and presumably the other half were left packing up or waiting to see if anyone else came through the gate. 

Robin had tucked her up in the pillows. The night was colder here than at home and they'd been temporarily relieved of their bags. Robin sat on one of the benches, looking out at what he could see of the landscape in the darkness. The cart rolled over a rut in the road, knocking them both sideways. Hazel groaned. 

“The driver's nearly as bad as you on the quad,” she said, rearranging the pillows. Robin didn’t respond and continued looking out around them. Hazel hit his leg.

“What was that for?”

“I insulted your driving and you didn't respond. I was checking that you weren't dead.”

“I don't think this is really the time for jokes.”

“Did he say where they were taking us?”

‘He’ was the elf in charge, with the dark, curly hair and blue eyes.

“To the person in control of this region. Duke Narlena. Our new friend is, if I translated it right, General Gosht. His second-in-command wanted to restrain us, but he decided you were too sick to run, and didn't think I would leave you. But they took our bags to make sure.”

“They don’t know you very well.”

“I know, if I could get my bag back I'd leave you a heartbeat.” He gave her a small smile. Hazel threw a pillow at him which drew the General’s attention. He rode over, level with the cart and gave them a stony look before speaking to Robin.

“We’re about to arrive,” Robin translated. They turned a corner and Hazel pulled herself onto the bench next to Robin. The word castle conjures up a lot of images; Disney-fied versions, all turrets and glamour. Or the great empty halls they visited with school which, although they still had their walls and roof, were still unimaginable as somewhere people had lived. And she’d seen many ruins that she couldn't picture complete at all. What was before them now looked more like a stately home than a castle. There was an outer wall, but no drawbridge, and the squat building was set slightly away from the more practical outbuildings the castle needed. It wasn't particularly pretty, and not a turret in sight, but it did look fortified. Hazel wasn't worried about getting in though - that seemed to be happening whether she wanted to or not - getting out again was her worry.

They pulled up near the front door and someone came down the steps to meet the General and his men. It looked like an argument started.

“They can't decide to put us in rooms or prison.” Robin said.

Hazel looked up. The upper storey of the building was dark, if there were windows then there weren’t any lights on.

“I bet no one wants to make a decision without the Duke in case it's the wrong one, but he's probably in bed.” She watched the arguing group. The General had dismounted and stood silently as the steward gesticulated at him. He looked over at the cart and made eye contact with Hazel. She couldn't look away. He strode over, ignoring the steward who was still talking to him, and undid the back of the cart.

“Come.”

Robin and Hazel looked at each other, surprised that he’d spoken in English, and clambered down to the floor. Robin steadied her as she landed. The General motioned to his men and their bags were returned. Another gesture and most of the guards and the cart moved away towards the outbuildings. He nodded to them and turned on his heel, following his men and leaving them with the steward who looked fit to burst.

The steward found some men from the house to escort them, presumably in case they suddenly attacked. Hazel was led to a very basic room; bed, chair, empty fireplace. It was barely warmer than outside. She was ushered into the room and the door was locked behind her. 

“Definitely more prisoner than guest,'' she said out loud to herself..

She thought she heard Robin shout, but the door was so thick that everything was muffled. She scouted the room for anything that might allow her to talk to him, like a grate or something. There weren’t even any windows. She tried shouting into the fireplace, remembering that sometimes they merge and share flues. She found heavy bars across the inside of the chimney just above the hearth, but couldn't decide if they were to keep intruders out or people like her in. Neither answer was comforting. In lieu of any other options she changed out of her soiled top and tried to get warm under the bed covers. She must have dropped off because the next thing she knew she was being woken by a knock at the door. She heard a key turn in the lock and the door opened slightly.

“Hello? You can come in,” she said, jumping out of the bed. She felt weird speaking in English, as everyone she met so far had only spoken Elvish. No, not quite everyone. The General, although he'd spoken Elvish to Robin, he definitely spoke to the pair of them in English when he wanted them to get off the cart last night. Unless she misheard and it just sounded like English. But she couldn't check with Robin.  The door opened wider and a man with dark skin entered holding a tray in front of him. He walked across to the fireplace, followed by a pale girl carrying a small table. The girl hurried as if she wanted to be gone as soon as possible. Another girl appeared and set a fire in the fireplace. The girl with the table had placed it down and pushed open some shutters that Hazel had thought were part of the wood panelling when she investigated last night. Weak sunlight lit the room. Once the girls were done, the man nodded his approval and they left. Hazel could almost feel their relief. They’d tried very hard not to look at her, like she was something awful. The table was low, and the man sat on the floor beside it and indicated that Hazel should join him.

“Please, have some breakfast with me. You must be very hungry after your adventures last night.”

Hazel was shocked. “You speak English?” She put a pillow from the bed on the floor before sitting down opposite him.

“I speak several dead languages. This is the first time I've had a chance to practise with a native speaker.”

“Dead language? It’s one of the most widely…”

“But here it is dead,” he interrupted. “No one has used it for everyday speech for a very long time, and people very rarely move between our worlds now.”

“So why did you learn a dead language?”

“Do you not learn languages from your culture’s past?”

“Not me. Scholars, lawyers, politicians, aristocrats. Is that what you are?”

He paused to think for a moment. “Yes.”

“Which one?”

“I would say my role encompasses all of them.” He removed the cover from a plate. “This morning though, I am your server.” The food smelt really good. Some sort of bread, still warm from the oven. Porridge with jam. A pot steaming with what she optimistically hoped was coffee. She picked up some of the bread, and almost bit into it before carefully placing it on the plate in front of her.

“Is there something wrong?” he asked.

“I just thought of something, and I don't mean to be rude, but there's an old wives’ tale. It says if you step into a fairy ring that you shouldn't let anything pass your lips or you'll never be able to leave.”

“Do you believe this fairy story?”

She shook her head. “No. But then again, I never expected to end up in the place it might hve been warning me about.”

“Well. If it puts your mind at ease, this food is freely given, with no bonds or requirements and you are free to leave.”

“Am I?”

The man gestured at the food again. “Please, I feel we have had a misunderstanding about why you are here. Eat while I try to explain.” Hazel picked up the slice of bread again and bit into it. It tasted as good as it smelt. “My name is Antelé. I'm here representing Duke Narlena. Your arrival last night took one of our patrols by surprise. It was never common for people to come through the gates, and now it is completely unheard of. I suspect the younger recruits didn't even know what was happening. These tales are no longer told by our firesides.” He chuckled a little and poured from the pot. “The manner of your arrival, and the company you were keeping, alarmed General Gosht. He assumed at first you had been stolen by the Rhasper you were with.”

Hazel had no idea what that was, but she kept silent and drank the coffee that had been poured.

“Seeing your companions' concern for your health,” he continued, “the General decided Duke Narlena would want to see the pair of you. Unfortunately, the night steward does not like to be forced to deviate from his routine, and you certainly are not routine. I hope you can forgive your treatment given how unusual your presence is, and how unprepared everyone was for it.”

Hazel put down the cup. “I guess there was no real harm done, although I won't be happy until I see Robin. It wasn't right separating us.”

“Again, my apologies. Until we understood your relationship it was felt to be for the best. I assure you he is safe and well, apart from some minor injuries sustained fighting the guard last night when they separated you.”

She wasn't sure she liked the sound of that but she was relying on this man to get back to Robin.

“Would you be able to explain how you managed to come through the gate? As I said, it's been a very long time since there's been any interaction between our peoples.” 

“In all honesty, I don't know.” 

“You came with bags. It seems to me that you planned to cross.”

“Robin wanted to cross. On my parents land there is a stone, much like the one where the patrol found us. He had been told by an Elder,” she didn't know that was even the right term but it felt right, “that the gates were going to open soon. I don't know how he figured that out or how long he knew. What information he did have was vague; there would be ‘signs’ but he wasn't told what the signs were. I don't think many of his people believed that it would happen. His parents certainly didn't.”

“You know his family?”

She nodded. “They work on the farm with my family.”

“So you have known each other a long time?”

“Yes.”

Antelé sipped his drink. “I'm sorry for interrupting. Please continue.”

“Finally something happened which Robin thought might be a sign - an aurora. He asked me to come with him to find his way back to where his people originally came from. I agreed. I'm not sure if, when I agreed, that I thought it was actually going to work.”

“But you knew it must because, as you say, his people come from here.”

Hazel paused to think. “There’s a difference between knowing something happened to another person and thinking it will happen to you. I know people once came through the gates, that there was a realm, a plane of existence, parallel to my own. I’ve grown up with Robin and his family, I've worked with others like him, but when we touched the stone I didn't expect to be taken there. Here.”

“You touched the stone?”

“Yes. That's how we came through. We placed our hands on it and then we were here.” 

Antelé got to his feet. “Thank you. This has been a most interesting discussion. I hope you enjoy the rest of this meal and I will see that you are reunited with your companion soon.” He walked to the door and paused, like he’d forgotten something. “The Duke is holding a feast tonight for your welcome. I hope you will feel up to attending.”

Hazel swallowed the mouthful of bread she just taken a bite of. “Sure, but I hope the dress code is casual because I didn't pack for fancy dinners.” 

“I'll make sure suitable attire is found.” He left, and locked the door behind him.

Hazel deflated. The locked door wasn't a positive sign. She wasn't sure she believed him about the patrol being there by chance either. Things didn't make sense. If the Elves at home had to flee, what were these Elves doing here? What was that name he used for Robin? ‘Rhasper’? She got up and walked over to the window. It wasn't much of a view. Her room overlooked the space between the house and stables. There were a few people milling about. She tried to open the window for air, but the window didn't seem to have any kind of mechanism. She frowned. Was that the way windows here were, or just another sign that this was a fancy cell?

The day passed slowly. Robin was brought to her so they could share their lunch, but the two bodyguards standing in the room put a damper on things. She no longer trusted that people wouldn't understand them if they were speaking English. She mentioned her breakfast companion but didn't want to discuss him too much in front of the guards. Robin didn’t seem to have been mistreated, although he did have a split lip from someone's elbow in the struggle the night before. Hazel thought there was something else though. His eyes looked darker. Maybe it was just bad light or lack of sleep, but they didn't seem their usual lilac. She tried to cheer him up, suggesting that if they were guests of honour at the feast then the Duke couldn’t have taken against them too much. “After all,” she reasoned, “you don't throw a feast for prisoners, right?” 

“Let's go for a walk outside then, shall we?” Robin replied sourly.

They sat in silence for a while before the guards indicated that visiting times were over. Antelé kept his word, and late afternoon some more pale girls appeared at her door with a variety of dresses. Again, they didn't seem happy in her company, and once she’d picked a dress they more or less ran from her room. She picked a blue one, not because she liked the colour particularly, but because it was the one with the least amount of ties and fastenings. It was one she could actually put on herself, unlike the others. No shoes had been provided though, so she put her boots back on. As long as she stood still you couldn't tell. The owner of the dress must be slightly taller than she was, as the dress skimmed the floor. She just hoped that she didn't step on the hem and fall over. She had just finished trying to do something with her hair when there was a knock and her door unlocked.

Antelé had come to escort her to the meal. She was going to ask after her friend, but it was quite possible he was sulking and refusing to attend. She couldn't blame him, but if she wanted to know what was going on she would have to see the Duke. They were already suspicious of them so she would have to try and smooth things over. Antelé gave her a small bow before holding out his arm for her. She bobbed a curtsy, hoping she was doing it right, before taking his arm. She'd not been able to see much of the castle the night before, but now she could take in the décor a bit more. There were paintings, both landscapes and portraits, and the occasional sculpture. She tried to make a note of landmarks in case she needed to find her way back. 

They descended a flight of stairs, and the sound of music and people became audible. The doors to the castle’s hall were open, light spilling out. Hazel couldn't believe how many people had attended on what must surely have been short notice. They couldn’t possibly all live in the castle. People looked at her as she entered, and there was a man by the door announcing people as they entered. It felt very grand, like one of the BBC period dramas. Shame she couldn’t understand what was being said about her. The band was positioned on a balcony so they didn't take up space on the dancefloor. A number of couples were already swirling around on it.

“You seem impressed.” Antelé said.

“I’ve never seen anything like it in real life.” She took a glass of something bubbly from a waiter. Antelé beamed. They stood to one side of the room. A lot of people came to speak to Antelé and bowed or curtsied to her. Hazel smiled and curtsied back. She still didn't know what Antelé did, but he was either important or well-liked. Someone cleared their throat next to her and made her jump. It was the General, his dark hair was tied back but a curl or two escaped from the tail. He was wearing a jacket which looked military but must have been a dress uniform because it was very well-fitted. She tried not to think about exactly how well-fitted it was. This was neither the time nor place. 

“He's asking you to dance.” Antelé explained.

Hazel smiled at the General but spoke to Antelé. “I don't think I can. I don't know the steps.”

“It's rude to turn down an offer.” He looked upset.

“I think it might be ruder if I step on his toes.” She watched the General’s face to see if there was any sign of him understanding, but he didn't even blink. Antelé translated the comment and there was a quirk of a smile. He replied and Antelé quickly translated. 

“He's willing to take the risk.” He turned away to speak to someone else. Evidently, he deemed the matter settled.

The general took her hand and led her to the dance floor. He put one hand on her waist but she could barely feel it, and led her around the floor. She looked around to try and see the other couples but with the dresses it was impossible to see the steps.

“Hazel.” He said her name so softly it sent a shiver down her spine. She looked up at him and into his blue eyes. The light of the chandeliers seemed to make them twinkle. Looking up at him and not the other couples suddenly made it easier to dance. As she followed his lead she really felt like she was in one of those period dramas, everyone's skirts swirling around. He did spin her around too, her own Mr Darcy. Except Darcy was a prick. She felt more graceful than she ever had, looking in his eyes it all felt very safe, intimate, intense, creepy. She shook her head and tried to get rid of those thoughts.

“So, do you understand me?” She asked him.

“Yes.”

“But you didn't the other night.”

“Your world has many languages which you might have spoken. I knew which one your friend would understand.” 

“Do many people here speak English?”

He thought for a moment. “No, only those have had a… comprehensive education.”

Hazel guessed that didn’t mean the same as going to a comprehensive school.

“So like Antelé then.”

“We had similar schooling.” He seemed to be about to ask her something when there was a commotion from the direction of the entrance, currently behind her. She tried to turn and look but the General was also putting himself between her and the noise. He hadn’t let go of her hand, and then with the switching of places, and the other guests turning to look, Hazel stepped on her dress and fell over. 

The atmosphere in the room changed suddenly. She felt cold, everything seemed harsher to her, as if it has all been in soft-focus before. She could hear other people’s voices over the music, which she couldn’t before, and the lights seemed brighter.

“Here.” He held out a hand to help her feet. As her fingers touched his she could feel it happen, the rest of the world going out of focus. She snatched her hand back.

“What was that?” She demanded.

“Get your hands off her, you prick.” Robin barged in and placed himself between her and the General. He’d been provided suitable clothes for the feast too; dark gold on the jacket to match his tawny blonde hair. But if he was ready, why had it taken him so long to arrive?

She got to her feet by herself. “I'm ok, Robin. We were just dancing.”

“You can't even do the hokey cokey, and now you do ballroom? He had you under a glamour.”

She looked at the General and knew it was true. None of the Elves back home could do magic, but despite the real-life presence of otherworldly beings for some decades, pop culture retained the notion that witches, vampires, and other morally questionable creatures could use magic to assert their will over others.

“I wanted to talk but you were concentrating on dancing,” the General explained, “It was just to remove the distraction. You enjoyed the dance, didn’t you?”

Hazel felt sick. Part of her had told her it was wrong, but has been overridden by something else.

“You can make her believe she was enjoying it.”

The General stepped closer to Robin, looming over him. “And you didn't do the same last night?”

“That was different!”

Hazel thought back. He had told her she was fine, that it was safe, and she had felt better. Was that because her friend had told her so or because he glamoured her?

“I bet that wasn't the first time either.” The General was like a shark who’d smelt blood.

“It was, if he did. No magic at home.” Her voice sounded hollow.

“It's not really magic, or uses such tiny amounts compared to the other magics that it’s barrey worthy of the title. The power of a name, a touch, eye contact,” the General said.

Robin turned to face her. “El, it's not true.”

They’d known each other for too long. She knew his tells. “You bastard.” She looked at the General. “Both of you. You utter bastards.” She walked away from them, the crowd parting for her. There were open doors to the outside, she picked up her skirts so as not to trip and ran out and across the lawn. This must be the back of the house because she hadn't seen it before. She hurried away from Robin, still shouting her name after her, tears burning down her cheeks. Feet thundered behind her and Robin grabbed her by the shoulder.

“Don't fucking touch me,” she screamed at him. Immediately he let go. “It’s true isn't it? You could glamour at home. You used it on me.”

“Not to actually…do stuff. He's wrong, it does take magic, and there isn't enough at home. Nudges, suggestions. Not actually do stuff like he did.”

“I'm. Your. Friend.” She punctuated the words by hitting him. He raised his arms to fend her off. “How could you do this?” She thought back to the night they left, his hands on her shoulders asking her to come with him. Did he do it then? She spun on her heel and walked away.

“Where are you going?”

“Home.” It started to rain, great big fat drops. The General was suddenly in front of her. She hadn’t noticed his approach. He shrugged out of his jacket and put it around her shoulders.

“Please, come back inside. You won’t get far outside the walls, even without the rain.”  The jacket smelt good, spicy like cloves. It took her moment to take in what he said.

“Is that a threat?”

“No. The lands around here are not safe, that is why we patrol. Come inside. The Duchess would not like her dress ruined.” He shepherded her back to the castle, not to the door she had fled through, but to a small set of glass doors at one end of the building. The General hadn't invited Robin to follow, but didn't send him away either. He unlocked the door, and moved around the room, stoking the fire, lighting lamps, before leaving by the interior door with no indication of if or when he would be back. 

Hazel sat down in one of the armchairs by the fire. Robin sat opposite, but she couldn't stay still so got up and paced the room.

“I can't believe you would do this to me. When? How many times? Did you make me come here?” Something the General said earlier clicked. “Is that why you never call me Hazel?”

“There's a powerful magic in a name.” It sounded like he was quoting something. “That's why I don't use it, yes. I didn't make you come here. I may have nudged you towards something you already wanted, but I didn’t make you do anything. I haven't been able to make you do anything since…”

“Since…?”

He put his head in his hands. “The first time we found the pillar in the woods.”

“The other week?”

He took a deep breath. “No, the time when you ended up in hospital. I had just discovered what I could do. You didn't like the wood but I wanted to go, so I made you.”

“I don't remember the pillar.” She didn’t remember much of that day at all.

“My parents thought it was bad for you to know. They… they made you forget. And it's not just that your dad that banned us from the woods. They…impressed it on us. But it finally wore off.” 

Hazel was shaking. “Your parents made me forget!” Tilly had been a second mother. Yip had taught her to ride a cow because they didn't have horses, he’d fixed grazed knees. Then messed with her mind.

“Don't be mad at them. They did what they thought was best.” He gestured at the room. “They might have been right.”

“That doesn't make it ok.”

“Please, I'm so sorry.”

“Sorry you were caught.”

“No. I'm sorry for breaking your trust.”

The door opened and the General returned.

“And you!” She turned to face him, “what sorry excuse do you have for controlling me like that?”

He shrugged. “I told you I need to talk to you, and I wanted you to focus on me and not the dance.”

“And you think that's alright?”

“Yes. There is information I need, which I was going to ask you about before your little friend here caused a scene.”

“So why not just bring me here, or come to my room like Antelé did, like a normal person?”

“Because I didn't want him to know I was asking. Now at least I have a reason to keep you two away from the party for a bit, although since it’s in your honour, we'll have to return soon.”

“So what did you want to know? What is so important you turned me into a puppet?”

“Why are you here?”

Hazel threw up her hands. “I told Antelé this! Robin wanted to return to his homeland and it turns out I may or may not have agreed to come along.”

“But this is not his homeland.”

Hazel sat down. “I'm confused. This is where the Elves came from. Through the pillars.” She looked at Robin but his head was in his hands, his face hidden.

“This is Tallermin. The Rhasper do not inhabit these lands, and they never have.”

“Rhasper. Antelé used that word before.” 

“From Rhasplund.” Robin said. “North of here, I think.”

The General nodded. “It is a wasteland now, which is why I'm curious about your arrival.” He fixed Robin with a stern look. “Is this a scouting mission? We've not had one of your kind return for a very long time.”

“A scouting team of two? Some great planning there. No, I didn't realise where we would come out. I was just told to try the gate.”

“By whom?”

Robin looked like he wouldn't reply for a moment. “The last matriarch of the house of Moeric.”

“You said Yama sent you.” Hazel said.

“Yama is the last matriarch. I couldn’t refuse her. She suggested I bring you. She always liked you.”

Hazel didn’t know if she should feel happy or not that the old woman had liked her, and would send her into a dangerous situation. There was a tap on the door and the General stood up.

“We need to go back. The Duke expects you.”

“And if we refuse?” Hazel asked.

“Then I won't be able to help you.” 

They walked single file back towards the sound of the party. Hazel had ignored the General’s arm when he offered it, and Robin followed at the back looking miserable. They were shown to a room opposite the ballroom with the dancefloor. It was full of light from giant chandeliers. At the end of the room, almost spanning its entire width, was a long table set with flowers and laden with covered dishes. Long, plainer tables ran the length of the room. The General led them straight to the decorated table. He stopped abruptly, tapped his heels together and bowed deeply.

“My liege, apologies for our absence.” He said. Hazel stopped next to him and took his lead and curtsied. When she looked up she realised the man at the centre of the table, the man they were here to meet, was Antelé. Either side of him were two beautiful women. One said something to Antelé and he smiled. 

“My lady wife said her dress looks lovely on you. And my brother's coat matches it wonderfully.” He smiled and Hazel blinked at the General, unsure of what to say. Brother?

“The Duchess is most observant.” The General filled in for her. “Both your wives have such excellent taste that they could make anyone look becoming, but not as becoming as themselves. I'm afraid this one may have been ruined, we were caught in the rain.”

Antelé, the Duke, waved his hand. “They have plenty more I'm sure.” They took that as a sign of dismissal. Hazel and Robin were shown two seats at the end of the top table. The General left them for what must have been his regular position further down the table. Hazel gave him back his jacket, releasing its sweet, spicy scent as it was removed. The meal was long and Hazel had no interest in the food. She picked at each course, and when the plates were finally cleared the guests started to fall back into the ballroom. 

“I'm going back to my room,” she told Robin.

“I'll walk you back.”

She shook her head. “I can find it. I just want to be alone.”

“I really am sorry.” 

“I know. It's just there’s been a lot to take in. I need some space.” She hurried up the main staircase before anyone could stop her and tried to retrace her steps. She passed sculptures and paintings that she thought she recognised before finally ending up in a long dark corridor. There was a window at one end and the few lights that were lit showed a lot of portraits. She sighed and sat in the window seat, overlooking the gardens. She’d managed to get lost in the castle. She was probably on the other side of the building to her room. Her mother had always joked that she could get lost in a paper bag. 

Someone came around the corner and into the long gallery. She jumped to her feet.

“I'm so sorry, I think I'm… oh. It’s you.” 

The General came closer, his blue eyes almost glowing in the dark. She sat back down.

“May I join you?” When she said nothing he sat on the other end of the seat.

“Antelé is the Duke.” She finally said.

“You didn't know?”

“He said he was representing the Duke.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Would you have spoken to him as you did if you knew he was the Duke?”

“No.”

“Then the subterfuge was justified. He was there representing himself, he did not lie.”

“And you didn't feel the need to share your relationship with him to me.”

“No. Ours is more professional than fraternal. We only share a mother.”

“So your father was…”

“The Duke.”

“So why is Antelé the Duke now?”

“Our mother died and he was the eldest.” He said it like he was explaining to a child.

“But if your father was the Duke…”

“His father was also the Duke.”

Hazel finally worked out what was going on. “Ohhh. Your mother had two husbands. And now he has two wives.” She meant it more for herself.

“Is that not how you do things?”

“No, not usually. Is everyone involved happy with that arrangement?”

“Of course. What happens when your partner dies?”

“Then you’re left sad and alone.” 

“At least this way you are left sad with someone.”

“Are you married?” She hadn’t meant to say it, and not so bluntly, but it had slipped out. It was hard to concentrate with him so close. Where his hair got damp in the rain it was starting to curl and escape from his ponytail. He may be a dickhead, but he's an attractive dickhead. 

“No, I have not had that blessing.” He looked around. “This isn't anywhere near your rooms, you know.”

She shrugged, “I think I should have turned left at the crying woman picture.”

“You shouldn't have passed that picture at all.” He stood to lead her back to her room.

“I want to ask one more question.” He sat down again. “You said Robin was a Rhasper, and you are…”

“Tallese.”

“Right. So is that a nationality? Religion? Species?”

He sighed deeply. “It is our magic that separates us. And keeps us apart. Magics cannot be mingled.”

“Ok…”

“There is a story. Long ago there was a woman who had five sons. To each of them she gave a gift; one she gave gifts of earth, and to another gifts of air, one fire and one water. For her last son she had nothing left to give. She told them she loved them all and that they should go and use their gifts to find their own lands. The Darrowkin found love in the mountains. The Sakura on the sea. Rhasper on the high plateaus. And the Tallese in the forests. But the last brother found no love. He wandered from place to place, from brother to brother, not finding comfort. He eventually returned to his mother and complained. She said if you cannot find love with them then he should look elsewhere. The Darrowkin made the door and the others blessed it. The last brother walked through never to return.”

“But you said the Rhasper…wait…you’re not talking about them, are you?”

“No,” he said gently.

“You’re talking about me. About us. Humans, I mean. We came from here too?”

“If you believe the story.”

“Do you really have magic?” 

“Give me your hands.”

She was hesitant but held them out and made a cup shape. He put his on the other side to extend the cup after a moment the ball of blue flame appeared between their hands.

Story: Part One

 I was recently struck by an idea, the start of a story. I used to write a lot, but it's been some years since I wrote fiction. Over the last year I've completed a portfolio for a work qualification which was kind of stressful and lots of work, all on top of the pandemic. My creativity really suffered, I didn't knit much, cooking had become very repetitive, and all my weekends were taken up with writing evidence for work. 

But that has finished, handed in mid-Feb (and I'm still waiting to hear back about it), but the creativity has started to come back too. Knitting mojo is back, cooking is fun again and then I couldn't get this story out of my head. So I wrote it down, hoping it would go. And then the next bit came along. I recently re-read 'Moving Pictures' by Terry Pratchett. For those that don't know, wild ideas sneak into the Discworld reality and start making people act them out. It's very funny. And that is how this kind of feels, I don't know where the story came from, I don't know where it's going, how long it will be or how it will end. Even when I sit in bed and write I don't know what's going to happen next sometimes. But I tweeted about it, so here it is if you have spare time to read my ramblings. Hope you enjoy :)

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World peace had come at last, for a while at least, and like most SF cliches it was because humanity united against an outside force. But they didn’t come from above, aliens descending to take over; they stepped in sideways, from another place entirely. The first news report of something weird happening came from Brittany, where a large group of elves wandered out of a neolithic stone circle and into a tiny village not far away. It turns out they weren’t actually the first ones through; elves had been seen descending from Glastonbury Tor, but the locals had assumed it was a bus full of tourists and ignored them. They also came through at Stonehenge during the Solstice celebrations, but nobody listened to a bunch of hippies. This was all at sunrise of the longest day, and sunrise being at stupid o’clock in the morning, their arrival was mostly missed. But as dawn travelled around the world, more appeared at ancient points. Not just standing stones, but places where the space between planes was thin, ancient points where stories of Others had been told. Some were well-remembered, and some had been forgotten as people had been moved on or replaced.

There was confusion, not just that they arrived at all, but at how they arrived. They came armed, but with knives and swords and even axes and bows rather than guns, medieval weapons like they’d stepped out of an era when it was normal for everyone to carry things like that. Even that was still enough that in some parts of the world where they appeared there was a ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ approach that they did not come out well of. Apart from the weapons, they had more or less nothing with them, and once the news cycles caught up it was clear that they were refugees, although at first they couldn’t tell us that. This is where some of the stories from Stonehenge started to come in, when people finally listened. There weren’t many appearances that were witnessed, but there they didn’t just appear out of a stone, but came through the largest trilithon. Most who saw it described a window to somewhere else. Instead of the sunrise being visible as usual, the view had been of another place: mountains and fire instead of the sleepy Wiltshire countryside. This larger “doorway” probably explained why more elves appeared there than anywhere else.

Perhaps “elves'' is the wrong word, but that’s the name that caught on in the media. They aren’t all the tall, blonde, androgynous people the term might imply, much to the disappointment of fantasy enthusiasts. They mostly just look like humans, with just as much variety in skintone and the colour and texture of their hair. There is one thing though: they all have lilac eyes. It tends to make them sensitive to very bright lights, and some people think that the sun in their world isn’t as bright as ours. 

Governments were interested at first, trying to find a way back through the portals, hoping for abundant resources that their companies could pillage and make themselves rich. But it seems there’s no way back. The thing that brought the elves over was magic, and that works no better here than it ever did. The only way for them to return home is if someone opens the doors for them on the other side, and given what they were running from it’s unlikely we want those doors opening again.

When the initial shock/frenzy/excitement wore off, governments grew bored of the extra strain that these new people put on resources but couldn’t shove them back to where they came from. They had no interesting new technology that they could make money from, no resources to be exploited other than themselves, not even a new and interesting cuisine, and so they were put on the lowest rung of society’s ladder and left to fend for themselves. 

This all happened before I was born. My parents took in one of these lost couples. They had just taken over a run down farm and had a spare, albeit slightly dilapidated, cottage. Yip and Tilly soon became close with my parents, working hard to get the farm going. Yip had a real talent with animals and they won awards for the cows. Tilly and my mum found out they were both expecting around the same time, and once they were too pregnant to help around the farm they sat together and prepared for their imminent arrivals. Mum taught Tilly to knit with wool from the farm sheep, and Tilly sewed and embroidered baby clothes. 

**

Hazel stood on the corner of the high street of the town near where she’d grown up. It had been a long time since she’d been in the town long enough to actually look around. Visits since she’d left had been more fleeting, only giving her chance to spot the odd shop that had changed, the proliferation of coffee shops, but now she could see how tired everything looked compared to her childhood memories. She supposed it would have always happened, but as she wasn’t here to see it happen it looked more shocking. She’d left home after university, got a good job, met a man who… well, the less said the better, and had never really come home again. But since there had been a hiccough in her life, she’d taken the chance to find a job closer to her parents. She’d be living with them for a few weeks while she found her own place and could start over.

“Hey, El.”

She looked around and saw a familiar figure, but not her mother whom she was expecting. The person approaching her was a tall man, tawny gold hair in shaggy waves to just past his ears, held out of his face by the sunglasses propped up on the top of his head. The sunglasses were a permanent fixture to protect his sensitive elf eyes from the sun. He was tanned and muscular, the way someone who works outside all day is rather than from time spent in a gym.

“Roro.” She smiled at her childhood friend. He scooped her up into a bear hug. 

“Your mum sent me to get you while she finishes getting ready for your return. I swear I’ve had to move the furniture around half-a-dozen times. If it hadn’t been so much work for me, I would have been happy you were coming home.” He picked up two of her bags with one hand and put the other over her shoulder.

“I’m not staying on the farm that long, just until I find somewhere of my own. She shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.”

“I don’t think wild horses could’ve stopped her from pulling out all the stops. She’s been baking all morning for the welcome home tea tonight. I helpfully reminded her how much you like her cheese and potato pie.”

Hazel nudged him in the ribs. “Those are your favourite!”

“I know, but your mum wouldn’t make them for me.” He chuckled. “She is also making stuff you actually like, like those horrible mushroom things.

The short drive back to the farm in the dirty Landrover was spent joking about the same old things they’d always joked about. Hazel had been worried that the move to her parents’ farm after so long would be tense, but having Robin, her oldest friend, pick up  right where they’d left off, as if she’d never been away at all made her relax. The rest of her life was upside down but she was starting to feel like it had a silver lining. 

Robin parked the car in the middle of the yard between the small collection of farm worker cottages. The largest (but not by a lot) belonged to her parents who had inherited the farm from a distant uncle. The next one along belonged to Tilly and Yip, Robin's parents. Robin’s dad was a man of very few words, and when they first arrived the only thing he would say was ‘yep’ which with his accent became ‘yip’. He’d always been very cagey about giving his actual name; some kind of tradition from before they’d crossed over. Hazel wasn’t even sure if Tilly was Tilly’s real name, but that’s what they’d been called for so long it didn’t matter any more. One of the other cottages looked like it had been renovated more recently. Maybe Robin had finally moved out of his parents’ and into one of his own. 

Hazel slid out of the Landrover and shooed the chickens that had run over, hopeful for food. She opened the rear door to grab her bags but a shrill call made her turn around. Her mum was hurrying towards her, chickens flapping out of the way as she rushed down the path. 

“I’m so glad you're here,” she said, hugging her.

“So am I, Mum.” She squeezed her mum before extricating herself and retrieving her bags. “I’ve heard my room has had a makeover.” 

“Oh, has Robin been complaining again? I asked you to move the wardrobe once,” she chided him.

“And the bed, and the dressing table. At least twice,” he said low enough for only Hazel to hear. She stifled a laugh.

“Well, you’re needed up at the cowshed now you’re back.”

Robin gave Hazel a wink before pulling down his sunglasses. “See you later, Nutterbutter.” He nodded to her mother before sauntering off in the direction of the cowshed.

Bags finally in hand, Hazel followed her mother into the house. It smelt as amazing as always. Bread was rising, cakes were cooling on the side and savoury pastry smells drifted from the oven. Tilly was sitting at the large kitchen table, carefully decorating the top of a large cake. As her mum started clattering around making tea, Tilly finished what she was doing and rose to give Hazel a warm hug. 

“You look pale,” she said, “probably all that working indoors. We’ll soon get some colour back in you.” She gave Hazel a pat on the cheek.

“Probably just tired from all the travelling, Tilly. You look well though.”

Tilly waved her hands and sat back at the table. “Knees are giving me grief but I won’t complain.”

Hazel caught her mum rolling her eyes behind Tilly as she poured the tea. They sat around chatting about nothing very much until Hazel's dad, Yip and Robin all returned. There was quite a spread to welcome her home, and Hazel was impressed because her mother hadn’t seemed to do anything for the last few hours other than sit and drink tea. Tilly insisted on opening the first bottle of this year’s homemade mead, which was normally saved for midsummer, but she declared this a most important event. 

Yip briefly disappeared to fetch the instrument he had brought over from home all those years ago, and played a rousing song that only Tilly knew the words to. This was probably the most gregarious Hazel had ever seen him - he even clapped her on the shoulder and said he was glad she was home before he weaved his way down the footpath to his own cottage. Robin tried to ruffle her hair as she saw him out. He stopped at the end of the footpath to look up at the moon. It was half full and out here you could see so many more stars than what she lived in the city. She’d forgotten how many stars there were.

“I'm glad you've come back to us,” Tilly said, making Hazel jump. She’d forgotten there were other people while she looked at the stars. “I've been worried about Robin. I think he's hiding something, hopefully you'll keep him out of trouble.” She gave Hazel a warm hug.

“There's only so much one woman can do,” Hazel smiled,  but the joke fell a bit flat as Tilly looked so serious. She forced a smile though, and followed her family down the path. Hazel shut the door behind them and thought about what the elf woman had said and tried to think if she'd noticed anything old about her old friend that afternoon.

**

The next morning Hazel woke to a quiet house. It wasn't late for most people, but this was a farm and her parents always seemed to be up at the crack of dawn. She probably wouldn’t get too many days of freedom before they started finding chores for her to do until her new job started. She looked around the room. It wasn't her childhood boxroom - that had turned into her mother's craft room. When she lived here it had been the special guest room (not that they had ever had many guests). The bags she’d brought had been dumped in the corner so Hazel took some time to unpack them. There wasn't a lot, mostly just clothes that she didn't mind wearing around the farm. The rest of her stuff had been put in storage, although her mother tried to insist she bring it here, but she didn’t want to squeeze her life into one room. She’d need to start looking for her own place soon. Her job started in a few weeks and it would be good to be settled in before then. But not today. The sun was out and it was already warm. She decided it would be nice to walk up to the top pastures. The lambs wouldn’t be tiny but they’d still be cute. She grabbed some of the leftovers from the previous night and a bottle of water and regretted not having brought her paints with her. They were in storage along with everything else. 

In the boot room she found her old walking boots, so caked in mud and who knows what else they were now a weird grey-green colour, their original colour long forgotten. She left the house by the back door, wandered through the cute but scruffy back garden her mum never seemed to have enough time for, and then through the small gate at the end into the orchard. It was shady under the trees and the temperature drop was noticeable, but Hazel had always liked it in there. It was a mixed orchard; apples, pears, and gages all growing. The hives were in the orchard too, generally under Tilly’s care but that didn't stop Hazel from wandering over.

“Hello, Bees, I'm back.” She listened to their industrious buzzing. There was an old folk tradition of ‘telling the bees’, usually about somebody dying, but she’d always told them everything just in case they felt left out. With no response other than the hum that they always made, she moved out of the other side of the orchard to where it joined the farmyard by the edge of a field. As she opened the gate into the field she heard the growl of a quad bike’s engine from the yard so she stepped to one side, holding the gate open.

“It's not a public footpath you know. Not just anyone can come through here.” Robin was on the bike and stopped it as he drew level with Hazel. She stuck her tongue out and closed the field gate behind them. It was a bright day so he was actually wearing his sunglasses instead of propping them up on his head, so all she could see was her own reflection in them.

“Where's the lady of the manor off to then? Does she require a guide?”

“I don't need help from a lowly farmhand, thank you.” She put on the best posh voice. “I know these fields just as well as you.” Robin made a dismissive noise. “Alright but I know them well enough. I'm heading up the top.”

“Well, my lady, I am going the same way.” He made an extravagant bow from his seat. “Your carriage awaits.” 

Hazel climbed on behind him, but before she was completely settled he took off, causing her to let out an involuntary shriek as she grabbed hold of him. She heard him laugh, before it was taken away by the wind. The ride was bumpy and she didn't let up her grip around his waist. She had learnt to drive a quad long before she’d learnt to drive a car, but after coming off once she never felt that confident. Robin had always driven too fast anyway, and she knew he was doing it to wind her up.

“Slow down,” she shouted at him, her words immediately whipped away. She jabbed him in the ribs for emphasis. Immediately the bike slowed to a pace she was more comfortable with. They had to pass through a few more gates before reaching their destination, with Hazel getting off each time to open and close them and Robin pulling away a little each time she tried to get back on the bike. It was a joke that was as old as time itself and hadn’t even been funny in the first place, but he still did it.

“Maybe on the way back I'll drive you and you can be the gate bitch.”

“At the speed you drive we won't be back home before dark.” Robin pulled the quad to a stop and they both got off. The top of the field was at the crest of the shallow valley the farms sat in and gave great views. it was also the furthest point from the farmhouse so it had always been where teen Hazle had trekked to. Again adult Hazel regretted packing up her art supplies. She let out a deep sigh at the view.

“What did you want up here?” Robin asked.

“It was more the walk, have some lunch, and then walk back.”

“I could take you back and let you walk it,” he offered.

She smiled at him. “It's fine. Blew a few cobwebs away on that thing. What are you up here for?”

“A couple of sheep got into next door's field, so I’ve been sent to check the hedge. Did you say lunch?”

“I did, and you must have used your evil elf mind powers because I even bought some of those potato pasties.”

Robin waved his fingers at her to demonstrate said powers. “Definitely my evil powers.”

“Well, if all you use them for is making me bring you questionable foods the world probably isn't in too much danger.”

One of the things that people who wanted the elves gone had always accused them of was having secret powers. Those that had crossed over hinted that where they came from they’d been able to use magic of some kind, but they had apparently lost that ability here. They didn't speak about it to humans if they could help it, and this led to some groups assuming that they still had it and would use it for nefarious purposes. Their offspring, like Robin, had never had anything and were still targeted by these groups.

They split up to find the hole in the hedge that the sheep were escaping through. Hazel considered the sheep to be the most annoying of the farm’s animals, never going where you wanted and somehow ending up where they shouldn't be. Even the chickens were better than the sheep. They did find the hole though, and it was hard work cutting the branches to fill the gap until the hedge naturally grew back. By the time they were finished they were both hot and sweaty. They flumped down under a large tree that was growing in the hedge and Hazel divvied up the food that she’d brought with her. They ate in silence, watching the sheep that had moved away from them and the noises made by their repeairs slowly come closer again. Some of the lambs seemed to play a game of dares, where they’d walk closer before running away again.

“So what happened with Ernie? Edmond? What's his face. Ma said your life fell apart.” Robin didn’t look at her, he just watched the latest group of lambs that had come closer. He threw pastry crust towards them, causing them to scatter, binkying away as they did so.

“Eric. And my life did not ‘fall apart’. It just hit a bump.” She looked over at him, still watching the sheep, and sighed. “Ok, it fell apart a bit. He cheated on me. After all this time. I was working a few weekends ago and didn't feel well so they sent me home, and I found him with someone else. Another girl from the company we worked for. It had been going on for a while apparently. So I couldn't stay there with him, and I couldn't stay on at work with both of them there, so I left.” She realised there were tears running down her cheeks. She hadn’t really cried about it until now. She’d raged at the time, felt numb while doing all the things she had to do to move, but she hadn’t cried. She didn't want to tell Robin that she had gotten drunk with the friend she'd been staying with for a while and wanted to call Eric to make up, to fix whatever was wrong with her that made him feel the need to see someone else as well, but her friend had stopped it.

Robin put his arm around her and pulled her into his side. A safe, reassuring space. He didn't say anything but let her cry. Even without the cheating, Eric had been a dick. Hazel didn’t visit home much because she worked weekends, and the free weekends inevitably interfered with some football match or gathering they just had to attend. Although given what she found out, surely it would have been better for Eric to carry on with the other woman if Hazel hadn't been around so much. But she couldn't understand any of it.

Eventually she pulled herself away from Robin’s side, feeling cold where they’d touched. 

“Feel better?” he asked, pushing some of her hair behind her ear which had come loose from the plait she put it in.

“Not really,” she smiled weakly, “but thanks for listening.”

“That berk never deserved you.” It was something a lot of people said but it felt more meaningful coming from her oldest friend. Robin got to his feet and held his hands out to pull her up.

“Come on, I've got something I want to show you.” They climbed back on the quad and Robin drove, now at a much more sensible pace, along the hedgerow. They passed through a few more fields before stopping at the edge of a small copse.

There were small woods scattered all over the farm, not for any agricultural use but managed enough to supply some wood for fires through the winter. Most of them were fine, full of light and birdsong, but the one that they had stopped in front of was probably the largest on the farm and was densely planted with gnarled trees. It was hard to see much beyond the edge of the tree line. There wasn't even a lot of birdsong here. Robin got off the bike and walked along a faint trail Hazel could now see heading through the trees.

“Come on, it's not that badly overgrown once you're inside.”

“But… we’re not allowed in there.” She realised how ridiculous that sounded as she said it.

Robin pushed his sunglasses up to the top of his head, now stood in the shade. “Not allowed? El, your in your thirties, your Da can’t ground you or chase you about the yard with a stick.  His heart wouldn’t cope for a start.”

“It's alright for you, but I've still got the scar from the last time I followed you into that wood and got caught on that barbed wire. I had to have tetanus shots and antibiotics and all sorts.” That was how much of their childhood and teens had been: one leading the other into trouble, but of all the places on the farm their parents tried to keep them from this was the oddest and therefore the most alluring. Yes, slurry and silos were banned because they were dangerous, but there'd never been any good explanation to why they had to stay out of this copse. She couldn't even remember much about the last time she'd been here, other than that it was dark which was probably why she tripped on the wire and ended up in A&E needing stitches and the rest.

“Its safe, this path is clear. I really want to share this with you.” She followed him, ducking under the low-hanging branches on the field’s edge. Further in, the path had been cleared, and she wondered how often he came here, what could possibly be in the small scrap of wood and if this is what his mother had been worried about. It really was very quiet in the wood, still no birdsong, nothing scurrying through the leaf litter, not even a breeze to move the leaves about. Just their footsteps. They walked for longer than Hazel would have expected them to. She knew the bounds of this wood, and she was sure it would have taken less time to walk all the way around it. They hadn’t turned either, so she was pretty sure they weren't just going in circles.

“It's just here,” Robin said, answering the question she was about to ask. The clearing that opened up ahead of them was small, but still larger than it had any right to be in this wood, and in the middle was a tall standing stone. There was a large pile of vegetation to one side, that looked like it might have been removed from the stone itself.

“What is it?” It was clearly a giant rock but she couldn’t stop herself from asking the question.

“I think it's one of the stones my people came through.” He stepped closer to it and placed a palm on it. “Come feel it.” 

Hazel wasn’t sure she wanted to but she did go and stand next to him. The rock towered over her, at least twice her height, and there were symbols carved into the surface. She didn't know if they were merely decorative or supposed to be some sort of writing. They didn’t look like any writing she’d ever seen, but they didn’t look like anything else either. This was not the sort of stone that anyone had ever danced around or welcomed the sunrise to. It was full of foreboding.

“Is this where your parents came across, do you think?” It felt a bit odd talking to him about it. It wasn't something his parents ever mentioned. Apart from the big party at Midsummer Hazel had never even really seen other elves coming to visit the farm.

“No, they came across near the Cotswolds with a big group. Your parents would have noticed the long line of them coming out of this wood.” His voice had a far away sort of quality, like his mind was elsewhere. Hazel reached out and put a palm against the stone. She wasn't sure what she was expecting but was quite pleased she didn't feel anything other than cold rock.

“Do you remember Yama?” He asked her. Hazel thought back. There had been an elf that came for midsummer, and sometimes Yule. As a child she had assumed it was Robin’s grandmother. She’d had quite dark skin which made her pale lilac eyes stand out, and looked so very old. Her face was like a wrinkly apple, she smiled a lot, not speaking much English and she didn't have very many teeth. She nodded.

“She told me about this stone. She thinks something is going to happen soon.That the gates are going to open.”

At first Hazel was more shocked that Yama was still going - she’d seemed ancient when they were little - and then the meaning of Robin’s words hit her.

“You'll be able to…go back?” It felt like a weird thing to say, since he’d never been there - he was born and raised on this farm, just like her - but he understood her meaning, and nodded.

“I don't know when it will happen though.” 

“What about your parents? Will they go too?”

“No, they say there's no point. They don't want me to go. They say Yama has been predicting things like this for years and even if the gates did open there would be nothing but desolation on the other side.” 

“Do you believe Yama? That the gates will open? What does she say is over there?”

“I want to believe her. She doesn't say what's there but I want to find out.” He dropped his hand to his side. “Maybe my parents are right.”

Hazel shivered. “Come on, let's get out of these creepy woods.” 

She stayed with Robin for the rest of the afternoon, helping where she could. Robin seemed cheerful enough but she got the sense that the chill of that wood and its cold stone monolith hadn't really left him.

**

“El, wake up. I need you to wake up.” The voice was a hoarse whisper and her shoulder was being shaken. The room was lit by the light of the full moon, and a torch. She sat up slightly. 

“What's going on…?”

 “Shh,” Robin was sitting on the side of her bed. Now that was she was awake he got up and threw some clothes at her. “Quick, put these on.” 

“What's going on?” She repeated. “What time is it? What the hell are you doing in my room and how’d you even get in here?”

“It’s just after midnight and I came through the window. I really need to show you something so put those clothes on.” He turned away from her and seemed to be opening her chest of drawers.

“Normally a guy has to buy me a drink before I let him go riffling in my knickers,” she joked as she pulled the clothes he’d thrown at her.

“Har har.” He was holding the torch in his mouth so the laugh came out oddly. He was shoving stuff into a bag. She walked over to him to see what he was doing. “I just want to be prepared if what I think is happening is actually happening,” he said, removing the torch.

“And what is that?”

“The gate. I want you to come with me.”

“Don't be ridiculous. I can't leave. I get that you want to go explore but…”

“But what? You’ve got no job, the flats you’ve seen have been awful, and you've just been floating around here. Come with me. Be the first human in the elf lands. Please.” He had put his hands on her shoulders. “You're my oldest friend and I want you to come with me. I don't want to do this alone.”

“I'm just waiting on HR for the job, the flats weren’t… ok they were awful but I don't belong in the elf lands. You don’t even know what's there!”

There was a noise elsewhere in the house as she realised her voice had been raised. They both stood still,  the only movement the curtains in the breeze from where he’d left the window open, waiting to see if they'd woken her parents.

“I'm happy to come with you to the stone,” she continued in a low voice, “and I get this is important to you, but I can't come with you.”

His shoulders dropped. “Fine. But it would have been fun, like that trip we took to Cornwall.”

“I don't think you remember that trip the same way I do. My dad had to come rescue us after we lost the tent in that storm, and a hostel accused you of stealing and kicked you out.”

“But the rest was fun. Bonfires on the beach, fishing for dinner, scallops from the shell.”

She smiled at the memory. “Yes, that was all fun.” He moved towards the window but she crossed quickly and shut it. “You may have climbed in that way, but I'm not going to explain to our mothers why you broke your neck falling out of my bedroom window.”

Instead they snuck quietly through the house, only pausing once at a surprisingly squeaky stair.

“So why do you think the gates are open now?” she asked as they closed the kitchen door behind them and walked out into the warm night.

“There’s a sign. You'll see it in a minute.” She looked at him and could see his teeth as he was grinning so much. They picked up the pack he had prepared for himself and headed to the field where the spooky wood that contained the stone was. As they started across the empty field, now that they were away from all the outbuildings the sky was huge. Hazel gasped. Above them were green lights, gently drifting like the curtains in her bedroom.

“Are those…”

“Yes. The Northern Lights. Extremely rare to see this far south. And a full moon the night before the longest day.”

“The sign.”

“I think so. Are you sure you don't want to come? We can still go get…” 

“No.” She interrupted, although under the lights she felt her resolve waiver. The flats had been horrible, she didn't have a job, but her parents would be fine without her a small voice said. The resolve melted. “Wait here.” She sprinted, at least a little way, back to the house. Not having brought much with her made stuffing the bag easier. She left a note for her parents and wondered if Robin had thought to do the same. She said she wouldn't be gone long, and she hoped she was right. Robin hadn't made it sound like a one-way trip. There had to be a way back, that's how his parents were here in the first place. She got back to Robin, trying to outpace the bit of her brain that was starting to wake up and tell her what a bad idea this was. Robin looked relieved and agitated, the former presumably because she had come back and the latter that she’d taken so long. She hoped that was all it was anyway. He put his arm around her shoulders and they marched across the field under the weird green light of the aurora. 

They stopped at the edge of the wood. It was even more forbidding in the dark. The interior was pitch black as the moon and aurora didn’t penetrate it. They slowly made their way in, following the light of Robin’s weedy torch until they found the monolith.

“What now?” she whispered. It didn't seem right to speak aloud and break the silence. Robin took her hand and stood in front of the stone. He lifted his own hand, placed it at the centre and…

Nothing happened. Hazel opened her eyes.  She didn't realise she’d even closed them. Robin looked devastated. He pushed firmly against the rock, like it was a door that was stuck.

“I was so sure…” He stood for a moment, not understanding why nothing was happening.

“Maybe there's a particular carving or something.” With her free hand she reached out and as her fingers brushed the surface everything went black.

**

She gasped, sucking in as much air as possible because it felt like she hadn’t breathed in a week. Then she vomited. Everything was wrong. Her ears were ringing so much, her vision was a white out, every muscle was screaming at her. She heaved again but nothing came up. She tried to stand but her body wouldn’t respond. 

“Hazel, it's ok, you're ok.” Somebody was pulling her hair from her face. It sounded like Robin but the ringing in her ears was distorting everything. Plus he never called her Hazel.

“Hazel, it's ok, can you hear me?” Her vision had cleared a bit. It was definitely Robin next to her but something wasn't right.  Then she realised that they weren't alone. Somebody was speaking but she didn't understand. There were people standing about, she could sense their movements. Should she get up or feign sickness until she knew what was going on? Her stomach heaved and she remembered she didn't have to pretend to be sick.

“I'm going to pick you up.” She hated being lifted but she couldn’t really stop his arms as he pulled her towards him. He picked her up a lot easier than she would have expected. He held her close to his chest.

“Are we safe?” She breathed it so only he could hear her. She realised this is why he’d picked her up.

“I don't know.” He shifted her weight. “Can you stand?” Her body was starting to return to normal. She still ached, but her vision was returning. She nodded, and he gently set her back on her own feet, but kept a protective arm around her. She slowly looked around. They were in a clearing that was much larger than the one that they had left, but the stone was still in the centre of it. The markings that she’d seen on their one, the other half of the gate, had been faint and weathered away, but here they were sharp and glowing with a similar sort of light that the aurora had given off. The sky above was just as clear as the one that she’d left, but there was no moon visible, and although she was no expert, the stars didn’t look the same either.

They were surrounded by what could only be described as armed warriors. They were tall, all wearing dark armour with helmets that covered their faces. They also had swords. They weren’t drawn, but they looked on high alert. Behind them she could see campfires and tents. They’d been waiting here at the stone, ready for someone to cross. She felt a knot in her stomach and her knees threatened to give way. Robin’s hold on her tightened; he either felt her weaken or he’d just come to the same conclusion she had.

One, their armour more elaborately decorated than the others, stepped forward and removed their helmet. It was a man, pale in the darkness, with dark hair that was slightly ruffled where it had been pulled at by the helmet’s removal. It must have been a trick of the light, although from where she didn’t know, but his eyes seemed to glow blue, like sapphires. Blue, not lilac like every other elf she’d known and thought was the unerring marker of their heritage. He held out his hands wide in greeting and said something in elvish.

“Welcome to Clach Mordubh.” Robin translated.