Page 66 of The Changeling
‘Is that the sun you carry?’ the old woman asked in wonderment.
‘No. It is just a candle.’ I knelt so she could stretch her hands towards the little flame.
‘But it is bright and warm, like the sun is supposed to be.’
‘The sun is far brighter and far warmer.’
‘How can that be?’
I did not know the answer. ‘It just is.’
‘What is it like, in the land of above?’
I looked about me. ‘No’ like here.’
‘Are you ever not cold?’
‘Aye. We spin and weave wool to make ourselves clothes, and stuff quilts with feathers, and light fires that keep us cosy and snug.’
‘Are you ever not hungry?’
‘Aye. We grow enough to eat every day, and still store some for the winter.’
‘Are you ever not afraid?’
‘Aye. There are times when we can dance and laugh and play games, when the land is at peace and all seems well.’
‘I am never not cold. I am never not hungry. I am never not afraid.’
‘That is hard. Why dinna you come back with me?’
‘It is not permitted,’ the old woman said harshly. ‘Only in thin places and thin times, with all of one’s strength and all of one’s steadfastness.’
I glanced back down at her. She stood up, with the help of a tall staff with a handle made of a stag antler. She was so small, so frail, that I did not fear when she laid one hand on my wrist. But her grip was cruel.
‘You dare hate me when you were given the gift of the land above, while your people live in darkness and starve? You dare resist me when you have the power to free us? You dare defy your destiny?’
I struggled against her, but her hand was strong and cold as an iron shackle. Fearfully I looked into her face, but she was no longer old and withered. Her face was haughty and strong, her black eyes fierce, her hair as wild and dark as mine.
‘Soon, my daughter,’ she whispered. ‘Soon.’
I woke shaking all over, my heart drumming.
A dry hawthorn leaf lay on my sheet.
Thin places, thin times. The words haunted me.
What must it be like, to live within the hollow hills and never see the sun? How did my mother’s people survive?
That morning, as I ate fresh bread spread with melting butter and honey, I tasted it as if for the very first time. The sweetness on my tongue, the warmth in my belly, the return of vigour to my limbs. I walked in the garden, gazing up at the vast arch of blue sky above me, the spindrifts of cloud, the radiance of the sun, and I felt its gentle touch on my face as if I had never felt it before. Everywhere in the garden, spring revealed its delicate beauty. Snowdrops swayed under a bare oak tree. A hedge of blooming blackthorn cast its petals into the wind. Sweet-scented apple blossom burst from gnarled grey branches. Swallows soared overhead, and a robin perched on a budding twig, singing a clear, bright tune. The air smelt fresh and sweet, and I breathed in deeply, grateful for the warm plaid around me.
Carlin bounded about, a stick in her mouth, before dropping it at my feet and bowing low, her front paws bent, her tail wagging madly. I threw it for her again and again, then gathered a posy of snowdrops to take to the sacred well for the Lady. As I laid it on the hawthorn’s roots, I said a prayer of thanks with deep reverence. Indeed, I was blessed to live in the above world.
I sat for a long time, just looking about me. It was as if my eyes had been rinsed clean. I did not want to go back to the palace, with its intrigues and conspiracies, its constant jostling for position and power. I wanted to walk in the forest, I wanted to gather primroses and make myself a faery crown, I wanted to cook something delicious and serve it to people I loved.
At last, I sighed and stood up. I had to go back – the queen would be wanting her breakfast. I looked up at the tree’s twisted thorns. The length of nettle string I had once tied there had long ago disintegrated and blown away. I imagined knotting another cord, summoning Robbie to me, binding him to me so he could never leave me. But that would be wrong.
Do no harm, Nan had taught me. And I wanted him to love me and want me for myself, not because I had ensorcelled him.
