And it did. Or it forked. And suddenly my path was no more.
The shift was subtle, like the beginning of a rainstorm with oncoming mist. My trees gave way to strange ones, taller and wider, older by far, thick roots curling at their trunks. Their branches brushed my head as we walked beneath them, felt like fingers with very long nails. The path beneath my feet shone dimly in the faint light, scattered with fist-sized leaves, it was like walking on glass or silver, or on a frozen stream. Toads appeared on the path, singing toad songs, loud and croaking. They scattered as we passed through, jumping in among the ferns. An owl hooted somewhere nearby, and I squeezed Pepper-Man’s hand when the bird suddenly appeared in front of me, large wings chasing the air. Its eyes shone when it looked at me, just for a second, before it flew away.
“Nothing in here will hurt you,” Pepper-Man said.
“Where am I, then?”
“Visiting with friends.”
“Are they like you?” I felt my heart racing.
“Not at all,” he replied, and then he laughed. It was a hollow sound, that laughter, dry as a husk and dead as winter.
“Where are you taking me?” I tried again.
“Somewhere you are safe, by brook and birch, deep in the stones—”
“Where is that?”
“In the mound. Where I come from—you will see.”
“Are there other girls there?” My heart was fluttering with hope.
“No,” Pepper-Man said. “You are the only one.”
We walked for what felt like hours, the landscape around us changed again, the air smelled like water-drenched moss, a hint of iron and Pepper-Man. Beneath my naked feet, the ground turned soggy and moist; the trees were drooping shapes with clusters of leaves brushing the ground. I slipped on wet soil and mushrooms, large red toadstools and bigger brown ones that split open when I stepped on them, emitting clouds of spores. The toads were still there, behind us now, like a train of noisy followers. There were slugs, too, and a viper. I could see black bird shapes in the trees; none of them made a sound. The wind was all gone now. The air was quiet but for the toads’ throaty voices. I tried not to look at them, kept my gaze trained on the path before us, holding on to my friend, as if his hand were an anchor, safety in the midst of a vast, black sea.
Finally, we came to a halt by a circular shape in the landscape, a grass-covered mound studded with jutting stones.
“Is this it?” I asked, looking up at the towering shape. I could vaguely recall it, from Sunday strolls or maybe just from dreams. “But how do we get in?” I was yearning for that, getting inside, away from the dark woods, the viper and the toads. I pictured a feast of epic proportions: roughly heaved tables, pigs roasting on spits, like the ones I had read about in my fairytale books.
“It’s easy,” Pepper-Man said and pulled me along, and off we went, circling the mound counterclockwise, one time, two times, three times … My feet were beginning to hurt by then, and I fought to keep up with his strides. Twigs and thorny underbrush whipped my calves red and my stomach ached with hunger. Still, I trusted Pepper-Man and felt sure some great reward would follow at the end.
He had said so, hadn’t he?
As we completed the third circle, a rumbling sound rose from the ground, and the mound split open like a ripe plum, a gash ran down its side, wet dirt fell in clusters from the edges, and stones and vegetation came tumbling down. I cried out and hid my face against Pepper-Man’s body, flinging my arms around his waist.
A chuckle purred deep in his chest, and his hand landed on top of my head.
“Welcome to the mound, little princess,” he said. “Fear not, but look at the wonders.” I dried tears from my face with the back of my hand, looked up at him, my tall, pale friend, and tried for a tiny smile. “My tribe is here to welcome you, all the brothers and sisters of the mound.”
They came climbing out of the broken earth then, carrying torches and gifts. Limbs long and thin, hair ragged and braided. Fur and claws, teeth and nails, feather and bones.
The faeries.
First came a tall and spindly woman, carrying a wooden bowl. Her head was bald but for a single white braid, her body shrouded in silk. Her eyes glittered like black jewels; a brown spider spun by her pointed left ear.
“I bring you milk to drink, child,” her soft voice said in my head. She placed the bowl by my feet and took a few steps back.
Next came a man with a long, narrow face. His eyes were slanted and golden brown, his hair a thick mane of red. His clothes, or whatever was left of them, were brown and torn at the seams. A bushy tail hung between his thighs. In his hands, he held a silver tray stacked with soft white cakes.
“I bring you cakes of morning dew,” he said inside my head. His voice was dark, like thunderstorms, his teeth were sharp and very white. The fingernails that touched the tray were curved and very black. He placed the tray at my feet and stepped back.
The next one to approach me had a wreath of wild roses. She was as small as a child, but had the face of a crone. Her dark eyes peered up at me from a wrinkled face, brown as a nut. A roughly woven scarf hid her hair. Her stubby hands held out the wreath to Pepper-Man.
“A crown for our maid,” said the woman, and smiled.
I rose my gaze, looked at them: a half circle of beings I had never seen the likes of before: tall and small, hairy and bald. Some of them were antlered and others had tails. A few of them were like Pepper-Man, gnarled and tall, some were small, much smaller than I was. All of them looked at me expectantly; animal eyes and human eyes, birds’ eyes and blind eyes.
Pepper-Man planted the roses on my head. “Eat,” he said. “Drink.”
He lifted the wooden bowl to my lips. The milk was sweet and thick.
He picked a cake from the tray and laid it on my tongue; it melted like sugar when I bit into it, tasted like honey and blueberry jam.
“Now you can enter the mound.” My Pepper-Man laced his hand in mine.
They parted for us when we approached. Smiling faces, glimmering eyes. Hands that patted and touched.
Inviting me into their nest.
Into the dark, dark earth.
Inside, the mound was hollow, as such things are. There was a circular hall with smoking hearths; white stones paved the floor. Torches set in sconces in the dirt wall emitted circles of dirty light. There was a woman there with glowing eyes, playing a wild rhythm on a drum of hide. Birds’ feathers stuck out of the ragged clusters of brown hair that hung around her face. She was completely naked and her breasts were milky white. My cheeks reddened, and I looked away, unaccustomed as I was to things like that. Her golden gaze followed me as I stepped into the hall, clinging to Pepper-Man’s hand. A man in a wig like a French duke spun out in front of my vision; in his hand was a flute of yellowing bone. He lifted it to his lips and played a shrill tune, falling in with the drum. I watched him as he danced away, the frayed brocade of his waistcoat, the faded blue silk of his trousers.
“Dance with me, Cassandra,” said Pepper-Man, grabbing my free hand with his, spinning me slowly around. “Later we will have more cake but for now, let us be merry.”
The rest of the party was pooling in behind us, to that dank, hot cave in the earth. One by one, they fell into the dance, moving their bodies in swirls and steps. Swaying and turning, tossing and shaking.