The Skull

January 23rd, 2020

The skull babbled on endlessly, but Toman followed its advice anyway. He was running, running from the death that was all that was left of his life.

"Faster... Faster!" A little later: "Slowly, now. Musn't rush."

Dead eyes illuminated the path ahead of him with light as pale as the skull itself. "Come along now. We've not the time for sluggishness or foolishness or games here, child."

The corpse-light made the black turn yellow, made the silver-blue of moonlight turn off-white. All around him were old trees and a dense undergrowth and, under his feet, a little-worn deer trail. Toman was frightened, as any boy of fifteen would be were they racing headlong into the Faery Forest in the middle of the night, particularly when carrying such a grisly prize as his. At least it was a half-moon so he could see more than just what the werelights showed him.

"Come along, come along, musn't keep it waiting." Said the skull, its jawbone clattering.

"Shut up." He said. He couldn't hear sounds of pursuit any longer. "Anyway, how are you talking in the first place?"

The skull grinned as only a skull can grin, and blinked in a way only possible by one who lacks both eyes and the accompanying lids. "Stubborness, my boy... Pure stubborness." A little later: "Well, that, and the crows."

Toman said nothing. He pretended that his shivering was just because the ground was cold on his bare feet.

"Just ahead now. There you go." Said the skull. "See it?"

Toman did see it. The Hedge. Nothing so special about it, if you didn't know what lay beyond. But the boy did know what lay beyond it, and thinking about it set his knees to shaking and his arm to quaking, which set the skull's corpse-light to dancing and its teeth to rattling. "Hey now!" It said. "No need to toss me about like that, I'm dead enough as it is! Ha ha!"

But it still took many minutes for the boy to regain his composure. To quiet the shaking. Toman held the skull in front of him. The lights of its eyes illuminated a solid wall of greenery. It made him think of an old story he had once heard, of a lordly king who had walked in a hedgerow maze in his castle courtyard. The Hedge before him looked something like what he had imagined, but wild. Nothing neatly trimmed about this one, nothing clean and human in it. Just black-green leaves piled into a solid wall.

"Stop waving me around!" Said the skull. "Hold me still, and say the words. You remember. Just like I taught you."

The boy tried to swallow a lump in his throat. "Fairy-spirit, ferryman through leaves..." He said, found the lump rising into his throat again, gulped it down. "In night black as iron, lead me through on secret passes to the land of your charges."

Leaves and vines stirred to life, set themselves to rustling. The hedgerow shook itself like a dog shedding water. Waves appeared in the leaves, ripples of movement that hinted at things moving within the foliage. Then it all went quite calm, and the leaves settled into the shape of a face. It leered at Toman with a mouth made of grapevines and teeth made of pinecones. The blood-red berries it had for eyes glinted darkly under long, leafy eyebrows.

"Ferry you to the fairies I shall," it said, "but first a boon you must give to me."

Toman reached into his pocket and pulled out a little ball of brown paste. "Here is my boon to you." He said, and held it in his outstretched palm. When he saw that his hand was no longer shaking, he allowed himself a small measure of pride.

"What is it, little man-child? It is not from this place. It is not recognized here."

"Chocolate." The boy said. "From faraway seeds, grown in the soil of Eshmaal and brought to my grand-uncle on Azili ships many years ago. It is a precious thing, and this is the last of it."

"Ah, ah." Said the plant. "A precious treat from faraway lands, where the trees speak in human tongues... And the last of it, still alive. The survivor. Precious indeed." A red leaf as long as Toman's arm uncurled from its open mouth like a tongue, and Toman put the chocolate on it. The face slurped it back up and smacked its lips in appreciation of the flavor. "Bitter and strange. Yes, it is a good boon you give this night."

"Will you lead me through your maze?"

"I will, I will. A favor for a favor."

The face dissolved as quickly as it came, and in its place was a small hole in the otherwise impenetrable wall of greenery. Toman tucked the skull in close and scurried through. The leaves and vines closed the hole behind him, and he was in darkness.

***

Inside there was fog. Walls of green rose up on either side of Toman, and to his front and back there was nothing but a bright mist. Above him, the great round dome of the night's sky had lost its stars. Below him, the grass ran with trickles and streamlets of water. Mud squished between his toes, and the cool of it sent goose-flesh up his legs.

"Nowhere to go but forward." The skull said.

Every step was accompanied by the sound of water splashing. There were no other sounds, or they were so choked by the mist that they could not be heard. Toman's footprints were filled to the brim almost as soon as his foot had left them. He held his hand out in front of him, and could only barely make out the tips of his fingers. The corpse-light did little but highlight the dancing droplets hanging suspended in the air.

"I said the words correctly." The boy said. Even his voice sounded muted.

"You did."

"The Green Man said he would lead me through the maze."

"It did. It is."

The walls of greenery to either side of Toman were unchanging. He wouldn't know if he were walking in circles or not. "Should we wait until daylight?" He asked. "Then we'd at least know what direction we're going."

"There is no sun here." The skull chuckled. "Nor stars, nor moon."

"How can that be?"

"It simply is. Where we're going they will have a sun and moon and stars, but they won't be ours."

The path began to curve, so gradually that it took many minutes before either boy or skull noticed. Just as they did, the walls opened up and fell away. They were in a circlular clearing, cut into quarters by paths radiating outwards. Toman had just come from one such path (he decided to call it the south path, since he couldn't seem to get his bearings in this place). That left the north, west, and east paths open before him.

"Here is your crossroads." Said the voice of the Green Man on the air. The ground bulged, the water trickling away to the edges of the circle. Toman took a step back, then another and another, until he was pressed into the living wall behind him. The face burst from the loose dirt, spraying mud. Its round eyes were now the size of Toman's head, and they rolled wildly before snapping into focus on the boy. Had they not been fixed so intently, Toman would have thought its next chant idle speech rather than instructions.

By dawn lies Foundation,
By dusk is the Between.
But go nor here nor there:
New places shall you see.

By death-wise trace a line
To trap'd men long in beard.
They go nor here nor there:
No places do they see.

Goes widdershins the route
To lands of fairy folk.
Then go nor here nor there:
New places shall you see.

With the words came the landmarks by which to understand them. As Toman watched, a full moon peeked its way over the horizon in front of him. It was limned in opalescence, and too big by half. Yet it was certainly like the old moon that he had left behind, and that gave him comfort. Then came the sun, peering over the horizon to his back. It was a small thing, weak, and its light did little to give light or even burn away the mist. Toman found little to like in its red glare.

"By dawn and by dusk..." He recited. Backward 'by dawn' must be the Foundation, and forward 'by dusk' the Between.

"We aim for Faery." The skull said, hanging loosely from the boy's fingers. "Widdershins."

Toman looked to the Green Man, but the face was gone. The earth where it had broken through lay undisturbed, pristine. To his left, the path led off into the distance and into the mist. To his right, the very same. "Which way is widdershins?"

"Thrice round a circle," said the skull. Its voice had a sing-song quality to it now. "Thrice round 'gainst the sun. Take the left, and every left thereafter. That is widdershins."

So down the lefthand path he went. It wasn't long before there came another turn, and another, and another still. Toman went left at every opportunity, and never gave thought to the right. The skull was quiet, moreso than Toman had ever seen it. The slap of bare feet on water and mud was the only sound to accompany him through the maze.

"If widdershins is every lefthand path," said the boy after a time, "does that mean death-wise is every right?"

"No, boy!" The skull said. "Of course not! Death-wise is the dimming road. Take the path of decay, forward through time, and you find death-wise. Now no more questions! I'm listening for something..."

As would happen to anyone after wandering a maze for hours with only an irritable skull for company, Toman soon began to worry that perhaps they were lost. What if the skull had been mistaken? If this wasn't widdershins? Or what if the Green Man had lied? But Toman was a clever lad, and so from that time on he would stoop down every so often and carve a furrow in the mud with his hand as he passed. The rest of the time, he kept a sharp eye out for any such furrows in the ground.

Then came the noises. Dim at first, but growing louder. Clashing metal, splashing water, heavy footfalls. Even, perhaps, voices.

"Ah!" The skull came alive. Its corpse-lights shone all the brighter for it, set the mist to dancing in their beams. "That's them! We've strayed death-wise. Run, boy!"

Toman didn't need to be told twice. In his right hand he held the skull aloft, and he trailed his left along the wall of greenery. Whenever his fingers clutched at empty air he would slide and turn left, sometimes almost falling, and then he would be off again. The skull, for its part, babbled.

"Faster... Faster!" A little later. "They're gaining, boy!"

The footfalls grew heavier, louder. The sounds of clashing metal died away, replaced by the quiet jingling of armed and armored men running after their latest quarry. Toman's sides burned, his lungs were empty and full-to-bursting in turns, his legs ached. Tears stained his cheeks. The skull goaded him on, but there was only so much it could do.

Soon he was stumbling, crashing his way through the maze with no heed to his direction. His foot slid out from under him in the wet mud, and he turned his tumble into a dive straight into the green wall. The skull dropped from his hand and lay off to the side of the path, half in and half out of the muck. Toman didn't stop, he just crawled as far into the foliage as he could and curled himself into a ball.

"Hey!" The skull shouted. "Boy! Toman! Come and fetch me, boy, before they see!"

Toman's breath thundered in his chest and the sound of his heart beating made a staccato rhythm almost loud enough to drown out the sounds of pursuit. But he could still dimly hear the skull's pleas, and so he wove his own voice into the music of his panic. "I don't want to die, I don't want to die, I don't want to die..."

The sounds grew louder still. Then they were upon him.

By death-wise trace a line to trap'd men long in beard. The Green Man's voice in his head. They go nor here nor there: no places do they see.

Stomping past his hidey-hole was a whole troop of men outfitted in ancient gear. On their heads were rusted iron caps, and below them were blind eyes and long white beards. Their skin was sickly blue and paper-thin, criss-crossed by thin black veins. Their hands gripped the pale wooden shafts of weapons which had not seen the sun in centuries. Rust coated the blades of their swords and axes. Ancient mail clinked and jingled as the men ran, an easy lope that made Toman wonder that he had outpaced them for as long as he had. Their boots were made of fur so old it had turned white, bleached by even the little light to be found in this place.

Then they were gone, around a bend and out of sight. Some time later, Toman crawled out. The skull was still there, undamaged. They hadn't noticed it. "The first men to ever cross the Hedge." It said. "They came here with iron, and the Green Man saw them punished for it. He keeps them here, one foot on the path of life and one on the dimming road."

"How long have they been here?"

"Since before you or I were born." The skull clacked its teeth together, like it was laughing. "They found a way to escape death. Oh yes. But even I wouldn't pursue that avenue."

The rest of their journey through the Hedge passed on uneventfully, and in silence. Widdershins went their route, and they crossed their own trail (though neither realized this) no more and no less than three times.

***

The end of their time in the Hedge came without warning. One moment there was mist in the air and trickles of water on the ground, walls of green to either side and a long wandering time still ahead of them. Then the walls were simply gone, dissolved away to nothing. The sun and moon shone down from the sky. The daylight burned away the mist and heated the earth. Where there had been trickles of cold water, now there was nothing more than morning dew on an undisturbed field of green. The air was fresher here, with a sickly-sweet taste.

They had passed the Green Man and the Hedge. Now they were in Faery proper.

"Not far now." The skull said.

Above them a wan sun burned in the sky, smaller and meaner than the one Toman had known all his life. The moon had taken its place as the monarch of the heavens. It didn't simply occupy the sky: it loomed over the land like a predator. One quarter of the horizon was given over to its glow. Its center was the color of new bone, its edges limned with opalescence. It cast everything caught by its gaze in a pale, sickly cast.

"This is really where you wanted to go?" Toman chose a direction at random and started walking. All around him was flat, grassy terrain. A few shapes stuck out on the horizon, some obviously natural and some obviously less so, but it seemed to Toman that the distances were longer here; what he saw could not possibly be so close.

"Aim for the tower. There, to the north." If the skull was at all perturbed by what it saw, it gave no sign.

The day passed in silence, save for the wind and the occasional cry of beasts that few humans had ever heard. Once, away in the distance, the pair glimpsed a group of hunters, led by the Erlking Jolnir himself. Their hounds were white with red ears, and their baying was like the mournful cries of the dead. The hunters wore black gear and carried black spears, and they rode on goats of the same shade.

Toman had heard of the Wild Hunt and its leader. They rode across the sky and killed any they came across, or else forced them to join in. Through their atrocities they lived forever in the tales told around the fire at night, the ones whose truth transcended mere fact. In those stories, the Wild Hunt taught but one lesson: you are never fully safe.

Toman threw himself down upon the ground and prayed, silently this time, that they would pass him by.

"Stay still." The skull said. "They won't be looking for humans here, not in their own realm. They may not notice us."

The Erlking blew his great horn as he rode, and the sound of it was like thunder. Toman clapped his ears to his head and closed his eyes, sure that he could feel the ground under him shaking as the hunters approached, as they saw him, as they raised their spears. He could already feel their bite.

And then the hunters faded away into the distance and were gone. Away to human lands, to exact their vengeance for an offense so ancient its perpetrators had forgotten it entirely.

"We can move now." The skull said. "Do you see the hill there, to the north-east? Just below the moon?"

"It looks black."

"That's it. Go that way, but don't get too close."

Though an all-black hill was strange enough, as the pair drew closer it resolved itself into a sight even stranger. No light from the sun or the moon struck it and, as best as Toman could tell, not a single plant grew upon its face. In fact, the light that came near seemed to be drawn into it, stretched thin and dashed to nothingness. This gave the hill an aura, as though a shadow were growing out from its sides and contesting the light of day all around.

The skull clicked its teeth together, and refused to answer Toman's questions. Then it began to shake, and then its teeth were chattering away. The wind, it seemed, had all turned towards the hill. It felt like it was beckoning Toman on.

He thought he heard a voice, coming from deep within it somewhere.

"Turn back!" A sound resolved itself from the air, and Toman realized that he had been hearing it for some time now. A voice, coming from much closer at hand. "Turn! Now!" The skull. "Go towards the tower!"

To the east stood a lone spire, tall and pale in the moonlight. Its marble surface glowed, though whether that was from the light that struck it or because he had been staring into the black heart of the hill, Toman couldn't be sure. But it was hard to make the rest of his body follow his gaze, hard even to make himself stop walking towards the hill. All his instincts told him to keep going forward, to dive into that blackness and never surface. It took many minutes to coax his feet around and, step by agonizing step, walk away from the strange thing that looked like a hill.

"What was that?"

"A remnant." The skull said. As Toman got further away, the skull grew more animated. "A stain, like if you spilled a drop of blood on a new piece of cloth."

"What caused it?"

"Well, now that is a story." Somehow, the skull made it clear that it was smiling. "A story you ought to know, before we go on."

***

"Once upon a time, there was everything. All light, all darkness, all things beautiful and horrible all together in a great big melting pot, boiling and bubbling away, happy as you please. The first of the bubbles to rise to the top of that big stew were living things... After a fashion. They could think, at any rate, and they could stir the stew so they only got the bits they wanted. The beautiful parts. Well, they stayed like that for a while, but then along came a new kind of living thing.

"That new thing set itself not to changing the stew, but to naming all its parts. They named themselves 'humans' and they named the things that had come before them 'fairies.' Then they named the ocean, and all the things in it, and suddenly the fairies found that they couldn't stir those things up anymore. Then the humans named the sky, the sun and moon and stars, and more of the fairy's power got locked away. Finally, the humans named the land and everything on it. When we did that, we made the Foundation.

"Most of the fairies died, and the ones that didn't had to hide inside shells of wood or stone or anything else that was handy. See, we had named everything, and that gave us the power. But the fairies still had their tricks, and as long as they remembered the before-times, when they had been powerful, they could still get up to their old mischief. Because they knew what it was like, before. And if you know where a thing comes from, you have power over it.

"That was how the world got started. But the fairies didn't like that so much, so they went to war against the humans, to unname everything. But we were too strong, and we beat 'em time and again. Then they got all pressed together, with nowhere left to run. So one of their kings comes forward, and he makes a spell. He creates the Green Man and his Hedge, and he tells them not to let any human in with even a speck of iron on 'em.

"But that spell was a powerful one, and it didn't go so well for the king that made it. It turned the whole land around him inside out, it did, and trapped him inside."

Toman nodded. "And that hill, the one back there, is where he got trapped."

"Where he's still trapped."

***

The tower was ten times the height of a man, or more, and cool to the touch. Toman sat down with his back to the pure white stone and looked back at the hill where the king of the fairies lay entombed. He set the skull on the ground beside him.

"So why'd you tell me that?"

The skull took its time in answering. "Why not?"

"You've always kept yourself to yourself, long as I've known you. No one's ever had the foggiest notion what you're about, and it only got worse after you up and died on us last winter." He picked the skull up, stared into its empty sockets like maybe he could read something in them. "I don't even know your name."

"You know where it's going."

"What?"

"See, look at this!" The skull snapped its teeth together in disgust. "Here I am, answering your questions, and you don't listen! I told you that story because if you know where a thing comes from, you know where it's going. And if you know where a thing's going, you have power over it."

"So I have power over the fae? Over their king?"

"You do now." The skull couldn't help but look proud of itself. "Some. Well, at least a smidge."

"And you've got it. And you've got power over me."

The skull sighed. "They're going to have power over me, soon. But I'll have you, and they won't know that. Now get some rest. You've a lot of walking still to do."

***

The walls of the fairy-city were of the same white stone as the tower. From a distance, it made the city look like a star shining in a sea of yellow-green grass, and as it got closer the star turned into a spire A great tower, blazing with reflected light, outshining the heavens above. Toman's eyes watered at the sight. In the twilight that was the rest of fairy-land, it made Toman feel like he were walking straight into the sun.

When he finally came within shouting distance of the walls, he found that they had been expecting him.

Most of them looked human, more or less. Some stood twice as tall as any man Toman had ever seen, and others stood half as tall as Toman himself. There were stars in their hair or captured in the necklaces and circlets and rings they wore, and one of them had a pair of stars instead of eyes. Some had dusky skin, some skin as white as the stone of their city, and some grey or blue or less natural colors altogether. They were all slender, lithe, and all either eerily graceful or so angular it was a wonder they didn't slice the very air when they moved. Their eyes all seemed too big, but none seemed open. Most of them stood just inside the walls of their city, looking out from the gates and watching, waiting to catch a better glimpse of the curiousity headed their way.

Just outside the gates a handful of them had formed an entourage. These ones were all tall, the shortest as tall as Toman and the tallest more than twice that. They held their heads high in the manner of people used to a certain level of respect. At the front of the group was one who looked like a lady. She had black hair, a motherly face, and a kind smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"We give you welcome." She said. Her hair was jet black, her skin a little darker than Toman's own. Wisps of vapor, like the last traces of a thundercloud, wafted gently about her head and shoulders and clung to her clothes. Her eyes were a deep brown, and much too large for her. The dress she wore was blue and white, with silvery thread woven into it.

"We accept your welcome." The skull said. It was the first time it had spoken in a long while. "In return, we give you our promise to hear you. As we discussed." The woman nodded. Her smile never changed, and Toman was beginning to wonder if she hadn't somehow gotten her face stuck that way.

"Please, follow us. There is a party we must attend." She turned on her heel and set off without even looking to see if they would follow. The rest of the entourage fell in line, then Toman and his skull. The crowd parted to let them pass, but kept a close eye on the strange newcomers. Whispers swept over the assemblage in a lilting tongue that few humans knew.

"A party?" Toman asked the skull. "Why are we going to a party?"

"Where else would we go?" Said one of the woman's entourage. It was the shortest of the group, no taller than Toman himself, and it might have almost passed for a slightly effeminate human boy. He had long hair that like strands of silver and was altogether too long and skinny, like he hadn't eaten in several years. Paper-thin skin the color of ash, bright grey eyes and a grey robe all together made it seem like he had had all the color simply drained out of him.

"You have to go to a party if you wish to talk to anyone of any real importance." He said. "Everyone knows that."

"Our apologies, Llor." The skull said. "My friend does not know your ways."

The elf frowned, and seemed to really look at Toman for the first time. The eyes changed, just a little, as flecks of light blue appeared around the iris. He may also have grown a few inches, but perhaps that was simply Toman's eyes playing tricks on him.

"But that is everyone's way." The elf said. "It's just how it is."

"I beg pardon for my son." The woman said, falling back and laying an arm around the young one's shoulders. "I will grant you a trifle, if you accept."

"We accept." Said Toman, before the skull could speak. The lady smiled.

***

Within the walled city were more walls, and beyond them still more towers. Staring faces appeared in every doorway and window as they passed, eyes all fixed on the human child lagging behind the entourage. Toman stared at the cobbled path below his feet so he wouldn't see. When he did happen to glance up and catch someone staring, it always sent a chill running up his spine or over his arms. The way the eyes sized him up reminded him of the wolves back home, but there was something else too. They were too bright, like the eyes of someone afflicted with a fever.

Or like the eyes of the dead men still trapped back in the Hedge.

So consumed was Toman with these thoughts that he only came back to the present when they arrived at the party. Before him was a grand courtyard, surrounded on all sides by carefully trimmed trees and shrubs all delicately strewn with vines that had not been seen in human lands for generations. Birds made their nests in the highest branches of the trees and sang beautiful songs that somehow wove themselves into the tunes being carried by a group of musicians on the far side of the yard. One of their number sang in the same language Toman had heard earlier, and the rest bowed away on square-ish instruments made of wood. And filling in all the space between him and the music was a crowd of some two hundred of the fairy-folk, dressed either all in grey or in clashes of brilliant color. They laughed and spoke like normal people, ate dainty-looking foods from a stone table along one side, and drank water from crystal goblets.

Toman, being a human boy, immediately found his feet taking him towards the food.

"No." Said the skull. Its brevity, more than the command itself, made Toman pause with his hand half-extended towards some yellow fruit he had never seen before. "Unless you like the idea of being a slave, you'll go hungry 'till we see this through."

"What?" His hand dropped to his side, but he was still eyeing the table with anticipation. "What do you mean?"

"Your companion is right." The motherly-looking one from before was suddenly standing just behind him, hands on his shoulders. "Our food can do curious things to your kind. And for right now," she said, looking down at him with that same wolf-ish stare, "we need you as you are."

Next to the musicians, along the very edge of the circular courtyard, was a small and motley group that didn't seem to be enjoying the festivities. Toman recognized a handful of them from the entourage that had greeted him at the gates, but the others seemed even more out of place than he was. The first was a weasely fellow with black-grey skin and shining red hair, whom Toman had never seen before. The second was a warrior three times the size of any human, whom Toman had last seen at the head of the Wild Hunt.

It was towards this group that the lady guided Toman, and she didn't release her grip on his shoulders until he was in the middle of all of them. As she did, all but the two who seemed out of place vacated the area, suddenly intent on finding new distractions.

"Is this the one?" The big man said. He was dressed in a red coat with designs like white serpents sewn all across the chest and arms, and on his head was a thin copper crown. One corner of his face looked like a stone wall that had been caved in; where his left eye should have been was nothing but a dark, empty hole. The bushy black-and-white beard gave him the appearance of age, while the rest of his hulking frame showed that he did not find it an obstacle.

"It is." Said the lady.

"Looks small." Said the dark-skinned one. He had too-small amber eyes and red hair which, on closer inspection, was not shining by virtue of the color but by virtue of being on fire. The flames never licked upwards but stayed almost motionless, like a line of fire that is about to go out. Neither the man nor anyone else seemed at all concerned, so Toman tried not to think about it.

"Perhaps." Rumbled the one-eyed man, before turning to the lady. "We have come at your request, Anwen. And we have even attended your... party. The Wild Hunt rides, and I must return to them before long. Doubtless, the Goblin King too has matters of his own which need attending. We expect that you have something to show us."

"Of course." The lady, Anwen, smiled. "Jolnir, Amadan Dubh," she gently lay her hand over Toman's and, with him, held up the skull for all the assembled to see. "I have brought to you this skull. There lives inside a human who would like to request our help. In return, it has agreed to give us the services of its grandson."

Toman's stomach clenched. Services? He opened his mouth to ask the skull just what was going on, but before he could get a word out the two men were nearly on top of him, staring down at him and his precious cargo.

"You want a deal?" The dark-skinned man smiled a cold, evil smile. "With us, with the First?"

"I do." Said the skull. There was a quiver in its voice that Toman had never heard before, but it was quickly mastered. "I would explain myself, if you allow it. I would tell you my story."

"Speak on." Rumbled Jolnir.

"I was born in Tor lands, with a caul over my head. My people believe this means I was blessed by the gods... So I was trained as a priest. And I served the gods for many years... until they asked me to die for them. I took my children and fled that life. Next, I took up as a medicine man; you would call me a poet. I thrived, and I learned many stories, and I made many friends here in Faery.

"But soon, by your reckoning, it was time for me to die... The same fate the gods had required of me many years before. And just as I had then, I fought. I learned a grand story, one of the most powerful that ever was, and with this I fooled Death into sparing me. For a time. One day, and soon, Death will learn of the treachery. And then it will come for me, and I will die."

"I ask for the help of the First in this matter." The skull ground its teeth. "I do not wish to die."

Amadan Dubh chuckled, idly twirling a strand of burning hair. "A human weakness."

"You offer the services of this child who carries you as our reward?" Jolnir asked. "In exchange for... immortality? Why not offer us this story you used, instead, if it is powerful enough to cheat Death?"

"He offers us freedom." Anwen said. "The child can be useful to us."

Jolnir began speaking in a tongue Toman didn't understand, and the other two responded in kind. The conversation became animated but, without being able to understand fully what was going on, the boy turned his attention to the skull.

"You told them your story." The fairies were arguing now, and not paying any attention to them.

"I did." The skull clacked its teeth together. "And now they have power over me."

"But you have me."

"That's it." The skull smiled. "Now you're catching on."

The three fairies ended their brief discussion. Jolnir was grimacing through his beard, and his one remaining eye seemed worried. The other two were much happier. "We have come to a decision." There was excitement in Amadan Dubh's voice. He had finally decided to give the matter at hand his full attention. "We will extend your life, as you ask. But first, your boy must do something for us. And you must swear, on your life and his, that the both of you will deal with us in good faith."

The skull didn't even give the pretence of weighing the options. "Done."

"Very good." Anwen said. She raised both her hands and turned towards the courtyard, where dozens of fairies still spoke and sang and laughed. They quieted instantly. "Today is a historic day for our people." She said. Though she never raised her voice, Toman had no doubt that it could be heard out to the furthest reaches of the party.

"Today, we will restore Anton to his throne."

***

The distance between the city and the black hill seemed much shorter the second time around. Perhaps that was simply Toman's own confusion, having now gone so long without a clear night or a clear day to help him tell the time. Or perhaps it had something to do with the great black goat he was riding. When he brought it up to the skull, he was told it was probably both.

The goat, a juvenile Jolnir happened to have on hand, trotted dutifully beside its adult counterpart. Riding it was Jolnir, who had not spoken a word since the party. Behind them came a train of fairies stretching all the way back to the glittering city in the distance, all hoping to be witness to the momentous event about to happen. Anwen and Amadan Dubh rode an elk and an ebony horse on either side of them.

"Anton's hill approaches." Anwen was the first to break the silence. "Before we reach it, boy, there is one more story to tell."

"You can't summon him if you don't know the story." said Amadan Dubh.

There was a pause, and then Jolnir finally spoke. "Many years ago," he began, "there was a pact. It sealed an agreement made with the great spirit Iron. With its help, we defeated a powerful foe who had plagued us since before time began... But Iron's price was high... From every one of our kind, the life of our next child. And so terrible was that war, that we gladly paid the price.

"All except two of us." Here, two amber eyes and one blue one fell on Anwen. She did not look up. "Iron was betrayed, and it cursed us for oath-breakers. Many died, and many more in the years since then. Its touch still burns." Jolnir paused, and gave a rumble so deep that Toman felt it from his scalp down to his toes. The Erlking was sighing. "Only one was killed for his treachery. The other, and the child, were allowed to live. The child who should have died was named Anton, who later became our Mageking. It is his Hedge that protects us still, though he has been lost to us."

Amadan Dubh grinned. "You didn't mention that it is from Anton's troublesome line that our very own Anwen descends."

"I did not."

"But look," said the Goblin King, "here is the hill of our dear, treason-born sovereign. I fear we mayn't dally."

***

The sensation of the hill beckoning Toman on returned, and before he knew it he was off the goat. One hand clutched at the skull, the other was held in front of him like he was expecting a blow. It was not until a great hand took him around his middle that he realized he had been walking towards it. The hand—Jolnir's—felt more like stone than flesh.

"You know what you must do?" The Erlking rumbled.

Toman nodded. "Go inside. Say the words. Summon the Mageking."

"What memory you humans have." Amadan Dubh was leaning over him, so close Toman could feel the heat from the flames that still engulfed his hair. Then too-long fingers snaked into the boy's grasp and, in one smooth motion, plucked the skull from his grip. "Go inside. Say the words. Summon the Mageking. Alone."

Jolnir released his grip, and Toman stumbled forward. The nearer he drew to the hill, the more it felt like it became the center of the world. Soon he could hear nothing but wind rushing past him, sucked in by the allure of the not-space that lay ahead. He could hear voices, far off and from long ago. They spoke secrets to him, secrets that would have driven him mad had they not, mercifully, been spoken in a foreign tongue. Next came the visions, glimpses of places and times both near at hand and far removed. He saw a vast multitude in a clearing, and in their center a figure of noble bearing and regal appearance. On either side of him were fairies, some like great trees, others much like Jolnir. Further afield waited dragons, lesser fae, and all manner of beings. On the distant horizon stood a human-like figure with pure white skin.

Toman's gut wrenched and he felt himself fall forwards, then around and up again. He tumbled end over end until he couldn't tell up from down, and he thought he heard the Green Man's voice, and then he was someplace altogether different. A grassy plain, on a bright and sunny day. There was no moon to be seen, nor stars, and all around there was not a single solitary figure. Only Toman.

"Have I died?" He breathed. He spun around, just to be sure. He was alone.

"Go inside. Say the words. Summon the Mageking. Go inside. Say the words. Summon the Mageking." He sat down heavily on the grass and gave himself a moment to enjoy the feeling. The air here was fresh, pure as a summer's day. It wasn't the stale stuff of Faery but real, breathable, human air. He hadn't even noticed that there was a difference before, but there it was.

"Say the words. Say the words." He brought himself back to the task at hand, and closed his eyes. Piece by piece, he recited the story told to him by Jolnir. He spoke of the pact, and then he was in a storm that rained not water, but iron shavings. He spoke of the price, and each shaving was coated in blood. It soaked through his clothes in an instant and stuck to his skin, leaving him covered in strips of metal so fine they almost looked like hairs. He spoke of the breaking of the pact, and screams tore the air.

"Only one was killed for his treachery." Toman said, closing his eyes to drown out the sound and the fury all around him. "The other, and the child, were allowed to live." Everything went quiet, and when he opened his eyes again, Toman beheld the same grassy field he had seen when he started. But now the sun barely peeked over the horizon, casting the whole world in dim twilight. Off in the distance stood a lone tree. It was burning.

"The child who should have died—" Said the boy.

"—was named Anton." Said the mageking.

***

For all that he had heard of this Mageking Anton, he looked disappointingly normal. He stood as tall as a man, was only a smidge on the thin-side, with dark brown eyes and strawberry blonde hair. He wore nice clothes, to be sure, but even those were simple; a dark green cloak with a golden clasp, a copper breastplate carved with runes, and an armored skirt underneath. Toman found himself feeling a little let down, coming all the way to Faery, braving the Hedge, learning the secrets of the fae, and all so that he could come find someone who looked like he could have been plucked from any market town this side of Belan.

But what Anton lacked in exotic looks, he more than made up for in other ways. Heat and light spilled out of him like out of a bonfire, warming Toman's face and forcing him to squint against the glare. Then light and shadow filled the air, interweaving, playing on the zephyrs caused by Anton's radiating heat without a care in the world. The grass under their feet bent towards him as though kneeling. After a moment, a glimmer of light appeared on his brow; a star, plucked from the heavens to mark the one true king of the fairy-people.

"You summoned me." He said. His voice was like water. "My people want their king to return, and you are their messenger. They needed someone who possessed the power of Foundation to bring me back."

Toman could only nod. A wave of vertigo crashed over him, and it took most of his concentration to remain standing. He did not remember getting up. Stars appeared in Anton's eyes, blindingly bright, and only then did Toman realize what was happening. The summoning wasn't yet complete; the disappointing appearance was just the beginning.

"I cannot answer their call." He said. Now his voice was like the torrent of the oceans. Other stars joined that on his forehead, forming a circlet. His green cloak dissolved, giving way to one made out of the night sky. "Not yet."

Anton raised his hand, and out of the space between the two of them rose a stone. Then a whistling sound, and from somewhere in the distance came a flying sword. It sliced neatly through the tendrils of light and shadow that played in Anton's presence and buried itself in the stone, hilt straight up.

"I was wounded, many years ago." Anton said. The blade began to rust, accumulating centuries of wear in mere moments. "A human nearly killed me. From her iron sword sprang the teeth of Iron itself, who has sought me all of my life. I trapped it in a stone before it could kill me, but I could not lead my people after that. So I ensured that they would be safe in my absence."

The sounds of clinking, clashing metal and running footsteps came to Toman's ear and sent a shiver down his spine.

"My awen then spoke to me, and I spoke its words to my subjects: no more could I rule until the blade that wounded me had rusted away to nothing... And it would not do so until all the iron in the world had done the same. Then the great crusade can begin." He smiled then, and somehow it was even colder and more predatory than his granddaughter's. "You can start that process, Toman."

The sound of his name snapped the boy out of his reverie. It felt like a fog lifting from his thoughts. "What?" He shook his head, and rubbed at his eyes. "How can I do that?"

"You hold the power of Foundation, as do all your kind. So break the sword. Break it, and the spells that protect it will be broken. The rust that has waited so long to destroy it will finally get its chance."The sword in front of Toman suddenly gave a crack! and split along the blade. The bottom half stayed anchored in the stone, but the top half teetered and fell to the side. It was very nearly gone before it hit the grass, so quickly did it rust away. Then only the other half remained, and it looked like it would last mere moments.

"The sword will die, and the rest of iron with it." The mageking looked hungry, almost feral. His lips had pulled back to reveal a wolf's teeth. The pit of his maw stretched into an infinite blackness. "I will be free."

Toman found himself nodding along. The blade in front of him was gone, and with its absence he could truly appreciate the beauty he saw around him. The grass under his feet, the blue sky, the sun on the horizon, the starry-eyed mageking with flames dancing up and down his arms. His were truly a beautiful people. So much greater than humans. Wiser. Older. Wasn't it fair that they, who had come into the world first, would be given it?

"I can do that." He said, nodding again. "I can break the sword."

Anton's laugh snapped him out of the fog. This time it had settled in deeper, pulling at his thoughts. The beauty disappeared from his vision; the grass was just grass, the sky just sky, the sun just sun, and the mageking just a wolf-fanged monster in disguise. "No!" He said, taking a step back. He raised his arms in a placating gesture and tried not to look into the too-bright stars that now encircled Anton's whole frame.

"I am sorry, your majesty." He said. "But I have no stake in this. I was asked to summon you... I have. I don't want to get any deeper into your affairs.... I'm only here for my grandfather's sake."

"Oh, child." Anton's voice sounded warm, like a father's voice when addressing a confused and wayward son. "That is good of you, you know. To not want to interfere. To be there for your grandfather." Water was now flowing from the ground where he stood, clear and tinkling. There seemed no end to it. "But I am only asking a very small thing, all told. And in return for this, I can give you anything you have ever wanted."

A picture of home came to Toman's mind. His mother was in the yard, his father in the field behind. His grandfather was sitting in the doorway, singing to pass the time.

"You humans are so fragile. You die after only a handful of years, and soon enough your memories die too. When your kind dies, they die utterly." Anton said. "Look here, Toman." The king crouched down to put the two at eye-level. "You know it's true, don't you? That all humans die? That you are going to die?"

Toman nodded. "Yes." There was a quaver in his voice now, and he hated it.

"You do this thing for me, and I can stop it." Anton smiled. "I can make you immortal. You will live for as long as you wish to, and if you ever do choose to go to your rest, your name will live on forever as the boy who freed me. Your memory will last until the end of time. You will never truly die."

The mageking reached out his hand. The flames that danced through his fingers receded, the shadows that encased his skin like a glove shrank away. All that was left was an ordinary-looking hand, beckoning. Waiting. "Will you do it, Toman?"

***

Outside the hill waited a great many fae of all shapes and sizes. It had been several days since the boy went in, and in that time more and more had come to see the fateful return of their king. "The time is almost upon us." They said, whispers rolling through the assemblage like waves on a storm-tossed sea. "Now we will have peace." Said the peaceful ones. "Now we will have war." Said the bloodthirsty ones. Then they came together in a chorus: "Now we will see the humans die."

One of their number found the last of those quite worrying, but he wisely stayed silent.

The members of the assembly crowded as close to Anton's Hill as they dared. A few had tested their limits and been lost, their minds shattered by the echoes of the spell which had been cast. The air thrummed with power here, and it was a power few of them would have any hope of surviving. It was the power of their king, and of all of the stories they had told of him.

And then a dark spot, like a shadow cast upon the power, and all eyes turned to the hill's northern side. A human boy stumbled and struggled outwards, away from the center of the field. All around him was a power that would have destroyed any of the rest of them.

"In the land of the sighted," said Amadan Dubh with a smile, "only the blind can stare into the sun."

The whispers came again, louder and more fervent this time, as the boy pulled himself out of the hill's influence. Toman was gasping for breath by the time he came within arm's reach, and then he was scooped up by familiar hands he never thought he would have felt again.

"Grandfather!" He cried, and for the first time in a long time, he smiled. "You're alive!"

The skull was now, once again, safely encased in flesh and skin. Toman's grandfather smiled at him with living lips, looked at him with living eyes, and held him in living arms. His new body was just like the one he had had before his death: old and wrinkled, but spry. His fingers were long and thin, calloused from years of playing. His mouth was set in a permanent smile, and his blue eyes twinkled underneath bushy white brows and a shining bald pate. He was wearing a coarse brown robe, like the one he used to wear.

"Oh my boy," he said, "it's good to see you." Then the warmth dropped out of him and he held the boy at arm's length. He looked him in the eyes. "Have you done as the fairies asked?"

A cloud appeared over Toman's face, and he chose that very moment to find the grass under his feet supremely interesting. "I met him." He said after a moment. "I met him, grandfather. Anton. The king."

Jolnir rumbled deep in his chest and leaned in. "Yes, boy." He said. "And? What did the king say?"

"He..." Toman raised his hand, then lowered it again. "He asked me if I would do something for him."

Another fae, like a great willow tree but with antlers made of branches on its head, leaned over so far he overshadowed even Jolnir. "Yes..." It hissed. "What must you do, little one?"

"He told me to break the sword. The one that hurt him." Toman looked at his grandfather, and now there were tears in his eyes. "And I-I told him no!"

There came a great roar from the crowd, and a wave of power rode the crest of their outrage. The willow tree laughed in its hissing voice, and Amadan Dubh's smile grew so big it split his face right in half. Anwen cried out in dismay, and Jolnir in anger, and all the assemblage came rushing inwards. "Oathbreaker!" Now their whispers were shouts, unified. "Liars! Kill the humans!"

Then Toman was up in his grandfather's arms and thrown backwards, back into the zone of the hill's powerful influence. Jolnir's great spear crashed into the old man and split him at the hips. His upper half landed coughing blood, weak, mere moments left. The gore trailed from his ruined midsection to the shaft of the spear, now stuck fast in the earth. Above it and behind it, the fae stalked slowly forward. They feared the power of the hill, but their hatred of these humans outweighed their caution. At their head was Anwen, who spoke: "There was once a human, who was born in Tor lands..." His own story, used against him.

"No!" The old man screamed. He was fading, his voice trailing away, but he had beaten death once already. His will was strong enough to last. "You won't have me! Not while I've still one story!"

The next words out of his lips burned. Oathbreaker, wrath, he spoke with black boils on his tongue, ichor slime pouring from his mouth with the name of things that should never be given to mere speech. Flames licked up from between his lips. Defiance kept him speaking, kept him shouting to the heavens until there was nothing left of him but a skull with a black tongue. Yet still he kept on.

He named the things which should have no name.

And they answered the summons.

The crows were among them, shadows blacker even than the hill, an absence of more than just light. They stood with human forms, yet taller even than the First. Their many wings beat against the air, their beaks opened and shrieked the axeman's knell. They looked at the world with great white eyes brighter and hotter than the sun.

All around them the fae scrambled, turned, ran, fell. They fought back, and some won free; the rest were borne away or torn apart where they stood. Their shells were broken, their havens against the hated Foundation ruined. The crows left nothing behind. The old man laughed, laughed as the crows swarmed him, gorging. Every ounce of him disappeared, every trace. Not even the blood on the grass was allowed to stay.

Toman couldn't see. One of the crows had landed on him, blinding him with its white-hot gaze. It was taller than any mountain, and older and stronger, yet it knelt compassionately on his chest. It seemed not to weigh even one feather. When it opened its beak, there was no shriek, no cry for vengeance or satiation. Only words, gentle words.

"Once upon a time," it said in a human voice, "there was a boy named Toman..."

---

This story was first published in Kennings Magazine, the student publication at Hanover College, back in 2016. I'm reproducing it here partly because I'm still having trouble meeting deadlines and partly because Toman's tale still means a lot to me. I'd like to think my writing has improved in the intervening years, but I'm not sure I've ever been able to capture the essence of what the setting means to me than I do here. It hits so many of the highlights: the multitudinous, inhuman, and quarrelsome fairies; the power of stories; awen, sorcery, and the magic of places; the pact with Iron; the inability to escape one's history. Plus it features many of the characters who have come to be my favorites over the years, even if only in "cameo" appearances. I'm hoping in the future to surpass this story—there's much to improve upon—but also to do it proud. Let me know what you think.