Thorn Kept

In Trial by Song, Jack Sorley stumbles through a portal into Faerie where a destiny waits for him that he never could have imagined. But long before Jack embarks on his harrowing journey, his father, Tadgh makes a discovery that sets everything in motion. Enjoy this sneak peek into the world of Trial by Song!

***

May 13, 1975

Tadgh Sorley slammed a long stick over his knee and pretended it was Bill Farrow’s neck. No matter how he manhandled it, the damn thing wouldn’t break. Thwarted for the second time that day, he flung it into the trees. His Irish Setter, Linn, tore after it barking in delight.

He tried to jam his fists into his pockets, but the slim fit of his new brown, orange, and yellow plaid slacks meant there wasn’t enough room for his hands. Tadgh looked down at his ensemble. The itch from the mustard-colored wool, belted sweater crawled up his neck. When he got home, he was going to burn the Columbia Minerva leaflet he’d stolen from his mother’s coffee table. The pants alone had cost a full week’s pay.

Linn returned, displaying the indestructible stick in her jaws. Tadgh sighed and patted her head for her efforts.

“I am such a square.”

At least Bill spoke up before he made a total goon of himself by asking out Bill’s daughter, Edna, while she ran the register. “What self-respecting man dresses up like a canary just to stick his nose in a book when he should get a real job?”

With one sentence Bill reduced Tadgh’s college education to nothing more than an excuse to avoid real work. So, humiliated and demoralized, Tadgh tucked tail and slithered out the door before Edna could look up to see where the ‘canary’ was that had everyone laughing.

Linn’s head whipped around, and she lifted her front paw in an unmistakable point. Tadgh squinted into the underbrush. A smoky-gray rabbit sat tucked beneath a cascade of honeysuckle. For a moment Tadgh thought he saw a flicker of red in its round, black eye.

The rabbit blurred into motion. Barking, Linn gave chase. Tadgh whistled and smacked his thigh, but she was too distracted to come to heel. He ran after her, hoping he could tempt her with the stick once he got close enough to throw it.

The sun was sinking into its downy bed of rolling hills along the horizon, and his sweater provided a thin defense against a blade of wind that switched from a wide, flat, cleaver into a thin, serrated knife.

Winded after cresting a steep hill behind his dog, Tadgh leaned on the stick and tried whistling for her again. She didn’t come.

The dying light stretched the shadows, and the light-headedness from the climb swirled the leaves in a psychedelic kaleidoscope of reds and browns.

He blinked. He didn’t recognize where he was even though he’d come this way several times before. Why did he hear running water? There were no creeks back here.

“Linn!” Frustration whittled at his patience. The last thing he wanted to do was leave her in the woods overnight, especially if the temperature dropped below freezing again.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the rabbit shoot across the trail. Linn went skidding after it, all scrambling feet and wagging tail.

Tadgh dove for her collar. He managed to catch her haunches, but she kicked and twisted like a fish on a line. His pants were too tight. He couldn’t squat low enough to get her under control.

She wriggled free and went racing away faster than Tadgh had ever seen her run. Fortunately, after he jogged a few steps the animals doubled back, cutting a wide circle he had no choice but to follow.

An unnatural chill stole into his chest as the familiar surroundings seemed even more foreign on the second pass. He should’ve been standing at the top of the hill. Instead of a steep slope though, a rocky ravine gaped before him like a wound. He twisted, thinking he’d gotten turned around, but the distant hills visible only seconds ago were no longer there. All he could see was the night sky wringing its last splashes of sunset into the black sea of trees.

“Linn!”

He tripped when his right foot uprooted a spotted red mushroom and broke the circle of a wide, fungal ring. When he turned to shoot them them a dirty look, the mushroom and its fellows weren’t there.

The swish of nettles and leaves kicked up by Linn in her mad pursuit faded into the distance, and the forest stood dark and silent, watching him.

A warm breeze fanned across his face. The wood’s honeysuckle cloying perfume was so strong he could practically slurp it from the air. Tadgh closed his eyes, breathing away the suddenly nauseating taste of spring. When he opened his eyes again, the rabbit sat motionless in the center of the path.

There was no sign of Linn.

Tadgh jumped.

The rabbit’s long shadow distorted across the uneven ground, hinting at a form more sinister than a small, gray, hare. It fixed him with a red eye, and Tadgh swayed as another rush of vertigo nearly dropped him to his knees.

A spray of dirt kicked up and the rabbit vanished. Tadgh blinked. Where did it go? He brushed aside a low dogwood branch bulging with pale, pink flowers and found himself standing in a wide dell he’d never seen before.

The grass was thicker than his mother’s shag carpet, sloping toward a stream that gleamed like a new vinyl record. Violets crowded along the bank, tucked beneath bowing daffodils and clusters of Queen Anne’s lace. Even though the sun was sinking beyond the horizon, morning glories lifted their white trumpets alongside spears of lavender in a steadfast salute to the figure lying under an overhang beneath a hawthorn so massive it could have been planted at the beginning of the world.

Tadgh’s breath caught in his throat. The woman lay on her side, hands folded beneath her cheek. Exposed roots formed a cage around her, as if she was being held hostage by the ancient tree.

Tadgh sank to his knees beside her prison and peered in. His stomach writhed with a terror that was both awe of what she was and certainty that beings like her couldn’t—shouldn’t—exist. Each strand of her white-blonde hair gleamed like polished steel. Her face held the delicate beauty of a Tiffany rose. He wished he could see her eyes.

Inexplicably, he thought of Edna—pretty Edna Farrow, the cattle farmer’s daughter, dark-haired and athletic, reared on a diet of red meat and dairy. Next to this goddess she would almost be considered plain, but Tadgh wished for the sweaty-palmed panic he felt next to Edna rather than the mind-bending fear that gripped him at the sight of this lady.

Ropes of pearls crisscrossed her narrow waist and draped along the folds between her bent knees. Sheer fabric trailed from the clusters of primroses that connected her gown at the shoulders. A golden cuff encircled her upper arm, and not even for a second did he suspect it might be costume jewelry. The motif of swans done in mother-of-pearl was too fine compared to the crass, gaudy pieces sold in stores.

Though he held his breath and waited for her to draw hers, her chest never rose or fell. She wasn’t dead. She couldn’t be and still smell like a field of wild roses. Stretching his arm full-length, he reached between the roots to clasp her sleeve. Her skin was warm beneath the material, but her lashes didn’t so much as flicker when he shook her.

“Hey, can you hear me? You need to wake up. It’s gonna be dark soon.” Talking to her made him feel awkward, like he’d lost the line between reality and a game of make-believe. Her expression was so serene he half-expected her to crack her eye open at any moment to tell him to buzz off.

Tadgh sat back on his heels. Regardless of whether she was sleeping or in some kind of coma, once she came to there was no way for her to get out through the roots. He patted his pockets. Apart from his wallet, the only thing small enough to cram in them was his Swiss Army Knife. Normally when he got bored he’d find a piece of wood and whittle a figurine for one of his nieces or nephews, but eying the roots that were as thick as his wrist, he didn’t think it would be very useful now. The only other thing he had was the stick. It was nearly three feet long and already proven durable.

He glanced over his shoulder. The clearing grew more unfamiliar as the shadows encroached, forming a barrier between him and everything he thought he knew. If he went to get help he suspected he’d never find this place again.

Tadgh dug his knife from his pocket and sawed at the thick root by her head. In moments his face was red and dripping with sweat. He was halfway through the second root when the blade broke. His hand jerked, and a line of blood welled along his palm. Hissing, he hugged his hand against his chest. Blood seeped into his new sweater. By then the sun had set and it was too dark to see the inevitable stain.

From his right, Linn bounded into the clearing, licking him wildly until he pushed her aside. Tadgh looked around, debating whether to give up and go for help after all. Lost and bleeding, clearly he wasn’t cut out to be a hero.

Linn sniffed the opening near the woman’s face. She scratched, and the soft dirt kicked up as she widened the hole.

Taking a cue from the dog, Tadgh grabbed the walking stick in his left hand and started digging.

The soil was crumbly and moist, so his makeshift tool proved more effective than the manufactured one. The roots ripped from the earth with no more effort than pulling a tooth. Once he had enough room to pull the lady out he found he was reluctant to touch her again. His hand still dripped blood, and despite lying on a bed of moss, her gown was so white and pristine it radiated a soft light of its own.

With no alternative, Tadgh leaned in and wrapped his dirty fingers around her wrist.

The moment their skin met, a warm electric current hummed through him. It made the hair along his arms rise. Magic. The word flashed through his mind, too true to be ignored.

For all her fragile appearance, Sleeping Beauty was heavier than he expected. Huffing and grunting, he dragged her out. His blood smeared along her arm and across her rib cage where he supported her into a sitting position before laying her down on the grass. Belatedly, he realizing that he didn’t have a plan for what to do with her now.

Linn shuffled forward to lick the lady’s cheek.

Black lashes fluttered, lifted, and Tadgh Sorley gazed into a pair of iridescent pools the color of a dragonfly’s wing. Her initial confusion gave way to shock, fear, and then a boiling rage that made him want to seal her away again and take off running for town.

Faster than he would have thought possible, her hand flew up to seize his throat.

“Who are you? Where have you taken me?”

Even without the crushing pressure on his vocal cords, his voice withered to nothing. Lightning streaks of impatience lit her eyes, but she released him and stood up–and up and up. If he was on his feet, she’d still be a head taller than him.

She took in his dirty, torn, lurid clothing with a dismissive glance. The tension eased from her face to be replaced by something close to disdain. It was painfully obvious he posed no threat to her now that she was awake.

“Who are you?” Her eyes bore into him, and his mouth opened without his consent.

“My name is Tadgh Sorley.” Her nostrils flared. He shivered at the predatory gleam in her eyes.

“And where are we, Tadgh Sorley?” The way she pronounced his name turned it into a spell, a beautiful haunting spell that would hang over him the rest of his days.

“We’re just outside Cormoran.” When she continued to glare he added, “About an hour south of Cleveland.”

“You mean I’m not in Annwyn?” The color fled her face until it was wan as wax paper. “I’m in the world beyond?” He didn’t know how to answer that, but she didn’t force him to speak again.

Rippling waves of heat rolled off her as she surveyed the clearing, raising the temperature of the night several degrees. She whirled around to smile at him, and for one fuzzy moment he was so entranced by her dazzling eyes he forgot to be afraid.

“Forgive me, Tadgh Sorley. When last I remember, I was in Annwyn with my lord, Winterthorn. He intended to do battle against Darragh for the claim he believes he holds over me. I thought I could talk him out of pitting the Winter Realm against Summer, but clearly he did not appreciate my interference. The iron-headed knave! If he thinks he can hide me in a box when I displease him then let him tremble at what emerges when I break free!”

If Winterthorn didn’t tremble, Tadgh did. With each word she grew taller until she towered over him at nearly seven feet. The leaves and grass around her seemed to feed off her anger. As he gaped, the grass at her feet grew several inches before his eyes. He stared open-mouthed while she paced up and down.

“He will be aware his spell is broken by now. I cannot hide my presence here long. If he was slain, King Darragh will come seeking me in his stead. For the sake of your world I must fly before either comes searching. But first, I intend to repay you for freeing me.”

Tadgh’s eyes glazed trying to make sense of her words. It didn’t help that her lilting accent tempted him to daydream.

She looked at her former tomb and storm clouds rumbled overhead. Literal sparks flickered in her blue eyes.

“How did you find me?”

“The rabbit.” This time she didn’t have to compel him to speak. “I was chasing a rabbit and it led me back here.” He sounded like an imbecile, but her petal mouth blossomed in a genuine smile that made his legs feel filled with water.

“The rabbit was my only means of attracting aid. Forgive me. Mortals, I understand, grow quite distressed when they become pixie-led.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that either. Mortals? She held out her hand and a vine burst from the ground to pick up the stick he’d used as a shovel and deposit it into her palm.

“I was unaware your kind remembered the old lore. This is elder wood, capable of breaking even some of our most powerful spells. Though your dress is strange to me I take it you are a woodsman?”

“I only go hiking when I need to clear my head.” He was grateful it was dark so she couldn’t get a real look at his ‘strange dress.’ More and more he missed his t-shirts and jeans.

“And what drove you to the trees on this occasion?”

“I made a fool of myself in front of the girl I like.” He spoke without thinking, but once he started he felt obliged to continue. “Everyone thinks I’m wasting my money on college. My grandfather was a carpenter, and my dad works in a cabinet factory. I’m studying architecture so I can design homes as well as build them. Nobody gets it. They all just think I’m a dork. I guess today I proved them right.”

“Woodworking runs in your blood then.” She hummed her approval. “Very well, Tadgh Sorley. Henceforth, wood shall be your element. From it you can fashion anything your imagination can fathom. And, as a symbol of my eternal gratitude, any children you sire shall inherit a mastery of their own so that no one may look down on them for not possessing a trade when they too come of age.”

A glittering, silver cloud rose from her shoulders to descend upon him like a cloak. Magic sank into his skin until it tingled as if his whole body had fallen sleep and finally begun to wake.

Tadgh gaped.

“Are you saying that I can do magic?” Everything she said sounded too far out to be real, but his chest was still buzzing with the power she’d laid over him. Her lips pursed with strained patience.

“Strictly speaking, no. You will merely have the skill to complete whatever task you set your mind to.” She waved her arm in a sweeping arc. “I leave you this glade. It is a sliver of my world transported to yours. While you are here, the fae cannot find you. Take care when you step off this land. Waking me won you powerful enemies. They will not soon forget your name. Forgive me, I dare not tarry further. If Winterthorn cast me out I must travel the hidden pathways to learn what has become of my world in my absence. Farewell, Tadgh Sorley.”

She vanished as if she’d been sucked into the space between molecules. Tadgh held up a hand to call her back, but she was already gone.

Blinking suddenly dry eyes, he looked around and thought he recognized where he was. Though the stream and hawthorn remained, on the opposite bank he saw the hiking trail he’d been trying to follow.

Linn pressed her wet nose against his hand. He jumped. She dropped the walking stick at his feet. Tadgh looked down. Linn wagged her tail. Letting out a shaky breath, he picked up the stick and squinted along its length.

“What do you say, girl? This would make a nice flute, don’t you think? I could hollow it out, carve some flowers along the side and make a nice gift for Edna. No? You think it’s just a stick?” She tilted her head as if asking him why he wanted her opinion on anything. “I thought so too. Alright, fetch!”

He threw it end over end, but ten feet away it struck a tree and broke in two. Bits of bark flew off and skittered into a patch of bluebells. Linn ran joyfully to retrieve it. Tadgh started for home, picking his way in the dark.

Soon she caught up with him and dropped the stick onto the path—only it wasn’t a stick. A pale wooden flute gleamed on the forest floor. Carved along one side was a neat pattern of roses. Tadgh gulped and looked back at the towering hawthorn tree. A ripple of silver laughter floated on the breeze that caressed his cheek and feathered his hair back from his face.

Use it wisely. 

 

The Hawthorn Queen by Alicia Gaile

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