Chapter Text
I forbid you, maidens all,
That wear gold in your hair,
To travel to Carterhaugh
For young Tam Lin is there.
There were monsters in the woods.
That was what all the boys at school had told Edwin when he was young. Little boys who wander too far into the forest get stolen, they said. Pixies would take them to Fairyland and replace them with changelings. Edwin, who had spent his childhood gorging himself on fantasies and fairy tales, had taken it much more seriously than the other children. He’d been teased for it, of course. The other boys had laughed and sneered at him.
“You don’t really believe in all that, do you?”
At ten, he knew he was too old to believe in fairy tales, but he couldn’t help it. It all felt so real to him—it always had, ever since he was no more than five and swearing to his mother that he saw a will o’ the wisp in the garden. At sixteen, it still felt real to him. He just knew better than to voice it. The other boys must have realized that before he did.
Edwin had always felt separate from his peers. There was something in him, he thought, that made him fundamentally different. They did not understand him, and he did not understand them. It was why he was so often the victim of either their disinterest or their disparagement (he preferred the disinterest). It was also, he supposed, why he had been grabbed out of bed in the middle of the night and carried into the woods kicking and screaming.
“Aw, is Mary Ann scared?” One of the boys taunted as Edwin cried through the cloth they’d used to gag him. He tried to break away, but with six much stronger boys holding him back, it wasn’t exactly a fair fight.
After what felt like an eternity of being hauled through the dark expanse of trees, the boys threw Edwin onto the forest floor. His head hit the ground with a dull thud. He started to push himself upwards, but two of the boys rushed over and pinned him down.
He looked up at the group, who had formed a lopsided semicircle around him. In the middle stood their ringleader: Simon Baxter. There was an odd look in his eyes, Edwin thought. It was different from the others—they looked smug and amused, but Simon seemed…angrier. Almost hurt. Perhaps even sad. But his face shifted into a mean grin before Edwin could decipher what it meant.
“Do you think this prat still believes in fairy tales?” he said. The group burst into vicious laughter.
“Probably thinks he’s going to get snatched by fairies!” One of the boys holding him down jeered.
“Well, why don’t we give him a proper scare?” Simon extended his hand to the boy next to him. Bewilderingly, the boy handed Simon a book. What would he need a book for? Edwin squinted… wait. He gasped behind his gag. He recognized that book.
It was an old storybook his mother gave him when he was young—back when she was involved enough in his life to give him gifts. The story was about a boy who got offered up to the fairies and grew up in Fairyland. It had been one of Edwin’s favorites as a child. He kept it under his bed, along with other sentimental trinkets. How had the boys gotten it? How did they even know where it was? Edwin wanted to cry as Simon opened the book and started to read.
“‘We offer up this little Mary Ann as a sacrifice to the Faerie Queen!’”
Edwin’s stomach lurched.
“Stop it!” Edwin yelled, but the sound was muffled.
“‘We offer him to the Fair Folk in exchange for their blessing!’”
As Simon spoke, the other boys’ laughter rang in Edwin’s ears. His heart beat wildly in his chest. He knew he shouldn’t be scared. He was not a child anymore. Yet, his skin crawled as Simon shouted the sacrificial words. Something in his soul was warning him: you’re in danger.
Then, amongst the shouting and the laughter, he heard something.
Leaves crunching.
Simon must have heard it too, because he cut himself off in the middle of shouting.
“Simon, why’d you—“
Simon shushed him sharply. “Did you hear that?” he asked, voice low.
“Hear what?” the boy who provided the book looked around.
“I thought I heard someone walking.” Simon slowly shut the book.
“Oh, bollocks,” a boy whispered. “Is it a teacher?”
The words had barely left his mouth before cutting off into a scream.
In fact, all of the boys screamed. They scrambled backwards, their eyes trained above Edwin. Released from his captors’ grip, Edwin shot to his feet and spun around.
A woman was standing there. But she was no ordinary woman. She looked like a goddess .
Her fiery red hair spilled down her back and touched the forest floor. Atop her brow sat a circlet of twigs, leaves, and dandelions. The blossoms matched the yellow threading in her long, dark green gown. Her skin was as pale as milk. The tips of her ears pointed skyward. She was both beautiful and unnatural.
Edwin knew who she was. He could feel it in his bones.
The Faerie Queen inhaled a deep breath, as if preparing to say something of grave importance.
“Well, then. Which one of you is it?”
The boys were silent. Edwin—who couldn’t have spoken if he wanted to—stood frozen in place, too amazed and terrified of the woman to move. Could she really be Queen of the Fae? The idea of it was mad, even to Edwin. Yet there could be no other answer, no other reality .
“Is no one going to say anything?” she asked, raising a judgmental eyebrow. She looked at the boys, as if she were sizing them up, until finally, her eyes fell on Edwin. She looked him up and down. After a long moment, she started to approach him. A shiver ran down Edwin’s spine as he came face-to-face with her.
In one swift movement, she gripped Edwin’s chin with the tips of her bony fingers. Edwin looked into her eyes. They were little voids, as dark and black as the night.
With her other hand, she reached for the back of Edwin’s head and untied his gag, letting it fall to the ground.
“Give me your name, child.”
Despite the terror coursing through him, Edwin knew how to answer this question. At least, he might, if the stories he read were to be believed.
“I will not give you my name,” he said, desperately trying to keep his voice steady. “But you may call me what you like.”
The Faerie Queen tutted. “Clever one, are you?” She sighed and dropped her hand. “No matter. I do not need your name. What I do need is a tithe.”
“What’s a tithe?” one of the boys questioned.
The Queen clenched her jaw. Her eyes narrowed, but remained on Edwin.
“Are you all still here?” she asked. Her voice was razor-sharp.
With a flick of her hand, the boys vanished. In place of where they had stood was a patch of wildflowers.
Edwin gasped and stumbled back. The Faerie Queen followed each of his steps, her gaze still pinned on him.
Edwin shook his head frantically. “No,” he begged, his voice little more than a breath. “Please, leave me alone!”
“No, no.” The Queen dismissively waved her hand. “No arguments, no bargains, no delays. I am sorry, child, but you have been offered as a sacrifice, and I am in no place to turn down an offering. We receive precious few these days.”
“But—they didn’t know!” Edwin exclaimed. “They were only trying to scare me! It was—“
“It was a sacrifice ,” The Queen snapped. “Whether you like it or not. What is done is done. A ritual was performed, a summons was spoken, a sacrifice was offered. This is the law of the Fae.”
Edwin opened his mouth to argue—or, more accurately, plead for mercy—but before he could speak, The Faerie Queen grabbed his hands and clutched them tightly. He wrestled against her grip, but it was no use. He was bound to her.
And then—
And then he was gone. As if he had never been there at all.