Goblins

Bryn shrank in the doorway. Swallowing her fear, Megan said, "Who are you?"

The woman's voice was so low she could barely make it out. "A visitor," she said.

Megan squared her shoulders. "You're not wanted here."

"Neither are you."

"Who are you people?"

"Children of the land of Gwydion. The faithful of Gwynn ap Nudd. Defenders of the Craig y Ddinas."

A sick feeling turned Megan's stomach over. The children stirred and fretted, as if troubled in their dreams. "Just get out of here," Megan said. "Leave the children alone."

The woman stood with jerky motions, like a marionette pulled on strings. There was, Megan was sure, a faint luminosity about her, a pale green color, like marsh gas.

"This place is ours," the strange woman said. "We are the lords here. The owners."

Megan held up her rosary. She thrust it at the woman and, as loud as she dared, she said, "Go away!"

The shape of the woman jittered, and she made a noise like a goat bleating under the butcher's knife, and then she was gone, leaving only a haze of marsh light that shortly faded.

Megan waited to see if anything new emerged, but nothing did. The children still slept, like little enchantments. Megan fingered her rosary over each of them again and felt a bit braver. Turning back to the doorway, she saw that Bryn was gone.

She closed the window, latching it tight. But when she brushed the curtains aside she saw the hill on the west of the property and the copse of trees at the top, and then she shivered: There were lights all over it. Pale green lights.

And as she watched, she realized they were dancing.

***

Sunday morning. Megan paced in the study, tugging the cuffs of her sleeves. Peter was at his account books, silent except for the sound of his pen scratching the page. He looked even more tired now than before he'd left. He'd come back late and put her off several times, and now she waited for him to finish with the books, rehearsing what she wanted to say. Finally he looked up at her. His eyes were very sad.

"All right," he said, and nodded.

Megan swallowed. "I know it might not be my place..."

"Just get to it."

"Things have happened while you're gone. I'm not really sure how to tell you."

"Megan, I'm not an idiot. I know."

She blinked. "You do?"

"This is about the gardener boy. I know he's gone. If you want to follow him, I won't stand in your way. You're both young. I assumed someone would come along."

It took a moment for her to realize what he was saying. "Oh! No, it's nothing like that."

Now Peter blinked. His voice took on an edge of uncertainty. "So you're not...leaving?"

Megan took his hand, squeezing his large fingers and kissing the backs of his knuckles, never mind the smell of ink. "Certainly not."

Some color came back into Peter's face. "Ah. Well. I'm pleased."

"But I'm terribly worried about the children. I think it would be better if we moved them back to the city."

"Why?"

"This place isn't good for them. And there's something that I..."

Her voice quavered.

"Peter, if I told you everything you would call me mad, but I'm frightened. There are terrible things here, and I think Flora and Miles are in danger every second. I can't say anything else, but I couldn't keep quiet about it either." She hung her head a bit.

Peter paused for a moment, mulling this over. He closed the ledger and went to the window. The garden below was a carnival of yellow sun and flower petals. He breathed deep, as if trying to inhale the essence of the place, and then he said, "All right."

Megan felt a knot untie itself in her chest. "We'll go?" she said.

"I don't understand what you're saying, but yes, if you feel this strongly then we can go. I know how much you care about the twins. We came here because...I don't know why, really. Something about family. After their mother... well, I don't think this place is really doing any good for all of us after all, is my point. So we'll go."

"Oh, Peter. Thank you."

"It will take a few days to put everything in order. In the meantime, if you really think there's any danger then make sure one of the staff is with the children all the time. I trust that you'll eventually tell me what this is all about?"

"I will. I'm so relieved that I...excuse me, I'm sorry." If she said anything more she would probably cry, so instead she kissed his hand again.

"Go tell the children," Peter said. "And...if you want the garden boy to come with us I'm sure we can find something for him to do in the city."

Megan almost tripped on her dress. "Oh. I..." But this was no time to think about that (if there even was a time?), so she left without saying more.

She had a spring in her step as she went to the kitchens. Even meeting Mrs. Rhoslyn there could not spoil her mood. She appeared to be baking.

"Bakestones," she said. "Try one." Megan accepted and found they were good. Mrs. Rhoslyn talked while she picked one apart.

"I hear you've lost your young man."

"I'm sure I don't know who you mean, but it would be none of your business even if I did."

"Don't be tart. I was just going to say what a shame it was. He has a good head on his shoulders. And good shoulders, for that matter.

"Do you know what tonight is?" Mrs. Rhoslyn wiped her flour-covered fingers on her apron. "It's Midsummer's Eve. Sneaks right up on you when you're not paying attention, doesn't it? My father once met a gwyllion on the road one Midsummer's Eve. I don't suppose you know what a gwyllion is?"

Megan did not.

"Trouble is what they are," was all Mrs. Rhoslyn would say. "Led my poor father quite a chase. He didn't hold any grudge, though. He knew he oughtn't to have been out on a mountain road on that of all nights."

Megan had finished the cake by now and brushed her hands off. "What exactly are you saying, Mrs. Rhoslyn?"

"Only that it can be a bad night for strangers. If they're not careful."

The lingering taste of the cake seemed bitter in Megan's mouth now.

Megan tucked the children back in their old bedroom that night, since the study had proved no safer. Then she paced the hall, chewing her fingernails. A few more days in this place. It didn't feel safe to sleep. She wanted to see Bryn, but of course he wasn't there. The idea of his little cottage dark and empty made her heart ache.

A lump under the cushion made her jump up when she sat in the nearest chair. It turned out to be a heavy black book. She saw that it was one of Flora's storybooks, though now that she looked at it she could not recall ever having seen this particular one until a week ago, and was not sure where it had come from.

Opening it, she found that a few pages were particularly worn. She recognized the story on the first:

"'The fair Burd Ellen has been carried off by the fairies. She is now in the Dark Tower of the King of Elfland. It would take the boldest knight in Christendom to bring her back.' So the eldest brother of Burd Ellen set out for Elfland. But long they waited, and longer still, and woe were the hearts of his brethren, for he came not back again..."

But the second she did not know:

"In our Savior's time there lived a woman whose fortune it was to be possessed of nearly a score of children. As she saw our blessed Lord approach her dwelling, being ashamed of being so prolific, she concealed about half of them.

"But they never afterwards could be discovered, for as a punishment from heaven for hiding what God had given her she was deprived of them. And it is said these, her offspring, have generated the race called fairies."

It was a strange tale. Megan read it twice more but could not make sense of it. She flipped back and forth between the two stories, murmuring to herself. Missing children...

Tiny footsteps drew her attention. She spotted Flora's curls and one bright blue eye peeking around a corner, and then she heard a giggle as the girl ran off again. Megan frowned. How had she gotten out of bed? She called out: "Get back here this instant."

More giggles.

"I'm warning you."

The tiny footsteps ran off the other way. Opening the door she found Miles, at least, still under the covers, but he was awake and looked troubled. She stroked his hair. "What's wrong?"

"Flora's gone."

"She's running around past her bedtime. I'll get her."

"No," Miles said. "She's gone." And he pointed.

The window was open.

A tense feeling that had been hanging over Megan all week snapped. Her knuckles whitened on Miles' arm. "Go find your father," she told Miles. "Right now." Miles went.

Megan stepped into the hall. The sound of footsteps led to the library. Creeping along with the candle in front of her, she pushed on the door. There was Flora, doll in hand, bent over some old books on the floor. The empty spot on the shelves was up near the ceiling.

Megan swallowed. "Come here," she said, careful to keep her voice steady.

The girl looked up but didn't come, hugging her doll to her chest.

"Did you say your prayers tonight?" Megan said.

Flora nodded. Her curls bounced.

"Let's say them again, just to be sure."

Megan held her rosary out. Flora looked at it.

"I don't feel like it," she said.

"Be a good girl," Megan said. She moved a step closer, rosary in hand. Flora backed away. "Just take it," Megan said.

"No."

"Take it."

"I said no!"

"Flora, you take it right now or I'll—"

"You'll do WHAT, you prying bitch?!"

Flora's face stretched like melting candle wax. She threw the doll down and ran, and when she reached the wall she passed right through it. A green haze marked the spot where she'd stood.

Megan grabbed a chair to keep from fainting. She realized she was holding the rosary so tightly that it hurt, but she didn't let go. Taking one deliberate step at a time, she went to the dining room. Mrs. Rhoslyn found her halfway there. "Get Peter," Megan said. "Get the hounds ready. We have to find Flora."

"I'm sure Sir Rowland's gone to bed already," Mrs. Rhoslyn said.

"You're not listening: Flora is gone. She's run away with the hill people, or they've taken her. We have to..."

But her voice trailed off in a slur. Something was wrong. She almost fell, but Mrs. Rhoslyn caught her. Holding Megan up, she shook her and then held her eyelids open, looking at her pupils. She was talking, but it was a moment before the words registered:

"...bakestones finally kicking in. It won't hurt you. It'll just see that you sleep the night through, for your own good."

Megan tried to mumble a question but the words came out thick and jumbled.

"Sir Rowland had two an hour ago, so you won't raise a peep out of him. Just let it happen."

Mrs. Rhoslyn appeared to be gently lowering her to the floor. Through the drowsiness Megan produced a word: "Flora."

Mrs. Rhoslyn sighed. "It's Midsummer. They have to have their tithe. The Good Lord only knows the sorts of things they'll do to the rest of us if we don't let them."

Megan tried to focus. The room was spinning. Her body felt like a dead thing. She was lying, she realized, beneath one of the portraits of Lady Rowland. She was sure she was imagining that its expression had changed to one of sadistic triumph.

She willed herself to stand. It was slow going. Mrs. Rhoslyn had let her here. Step by clumsy step, leaning on the walls to keep from falling over and praying all the while that she'd make it before her strength came out, Megan crept down the hall, through the entryway, down the front steps and into the gardens.

The flowers, it seemed, were all alight, and the way they bent and bobbed in the breeze suggested a dance, though Megan wondered if perhaps the poison had made her delirious.

By the time she came to the foot of the hill she had to crawl. She was certain now that phantom lights really were dancing among the trees. The night forest was a foggy mass of unreal colors, blues and pale greens and decayed yellows.

She heard music and the sound of feet shuffling in strange dances. Her body hurt. She wanted very much to lie down and sleep, but she had to find Flora first. What she would do then she had no idea, but still she crept inch by painful inch through the haunted forest, following the music.

Up ahead, in a clearing, she thought she saw Flora dancing barefoot in the grass, spinning in a wild circle around a maypole, and with her some dozen others, oddly shaped and oddly dressed.

Megan tried to call out but she had no more strength left, and she fell in a heap among the leaves. In a moment Flora was shaking her and saying her name, and some of the dark creatures were with her. "Get up," Flora said. "We'll make you better."

Megan licked her lips. "Run away. Back to the house." Did she really speak, or did she only think she did?

"The queen has magic that can make you all better," Flora said. "Can't you stand?"

"Can't move..."

"We'll carry you."

Crooked arms picked Megan up. She tried to resist, but it was too hard. It took all her strength to stay awake, and soon she wouldn't even be able to do that.

Flora was skipping along the path ahead of them. "They say Mother will be there. We can all dance and sing and be a family. They promised."

"Flora..."

"Everything will be better now," Flora said. "I read it in the book. You'll see."

Megan drifted in and out of consciousness. When she woke next she was in a place she didn't recognize, a stone room, or perhaps a cave. The light here was bright and frightening, and she heard terrible voices singing.

Somewhere she thought she also heard Flora talking, and a woman whispering, but it was hard to tell what was real now.

"We'll take you where there's a fair castle, and the best appointed troops, and minstrels who know every kind of music, and youths and maidens of elegant aspect, and everything is magnificent." the woman said.

"But can't we stay here just a little longer?" said Flora, sounding doubtful. And the strange woman replied: No, no, no...

Although she felt herself slipping away, Megan was sure she was going to live. That frightened her. She didn't know where they were going, but she was sure she would rather not ever wake to see it.