Colin and The Courts of Faerie

By M. E. Eadie

Something is wrong in Faerie. The Revenant, defeated was banished back to its own dimension, but from its abandoned castle a crack has opened up between the worlds. A crack just big enough to let magic through. Through this fissure an entity known as the Leere is able to orchestrate the downfall of the Faerie Queen and her Court.

This alone is catastrophic, but Inbetween, the space created to keep the world and the earth apart, is vanishing.

The future, to the Leere, is simple. With the destruction of the Faerie Court, it will take power and the seat of its power will be Horwood House.

Except Colin along with his friends, a detachment of Fairies, The Hunters and a group of Librarian/Valkyrie have something to say about it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Adambooks
• Release date: Jun 5, 2014
• ISBN: 9781927586037

M. E. Eadie

Michael lives on an island in the Ottawa River with his six children and wife. Formerly a visual artist, he has turned his attentions to writing. The cover of "A Thousand Kisses Deep," is his own art work.He binds, by hand, his hard cover books. In his opinion it adds to the emotional value of the book.He invites any conversations on the matter of art.

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Colin and the Courts of Faerie

by

M.E. Eadie

* * * * *

PUBLISHED BY:

ADAM BOOKS on Smashwords

Colin and the Revenant

Copyright 2014 by M.E. Eadie

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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Table of.Contents

Chapter One: The Death of a Court

Chapter Two: Assassination

Chapter Three: Dark Magic

Chapter Four: Out of the Breach

Chapter Five: Together Again

Chapter Six: The Dark Rider

Chapter Seven: Gloriana No More

Chapter Eight: Edge summons Jaeger

Chapter Nine: Something Big this way comes

Chapter Ten: Flat Skull Island

Chapter Eleven: Bunk’s Secret

Chapter Twelve: Fitting Inbetween

Chapter Thirteen: Out of the Pot

Chapter Fourteen: Fixing the Fool

Chapter Fifteen: Finding Ariel

Chapter Sixteen: And The Ghost Came Back

Chapter Seventeen: Searching for the Heart

Chapter Eighteen: The Elven Queen

Chapter Nineteen: The Design

Chapter Twenty: The Last Bear

Chapter Twenty One: The Taking

Chapter Twenty Two: The Return of the Queens

Chapter Twenty Three: Sacrifice

Chapter Twenty Four: The House

Chapter Twenty Five: The Last Bear Returns

Chapter Twenty Six: The Battle for the Heart

Chapter Twenty Seven: The End

Chapter Twenty Eight: A New World.

Chapter One: The Death of a Court

After the Revenant had been banished back to its own world, the castle had been abandoned. There were no enchantments left to keep it concealed nor was there any desire for anyone to go there. All that was left was a taint on the place, a curse and a fear that maybe, just maybe something remained, something waiting to come alive again. The castle was now, as it was in the beginning, an empty stone shell, a place of dread. And that was the mistake of those who should have been more watchful. On the heels of a great struggle comes complacency, because rarely do two great events happen back to back. They had assumed that since the wellspring of all the shifters had been destroyed, that there was no longer a threat. Faerie could continue as it always had, in a state of amicable animosity between those of the old stock and those of the shifters: the vampires, the werewolves, the walkers and the valkryie.

Deep within the castle, in the throne room, where the trap had been sprung on the Revenant and Count Blandicus had met his doom, there was a leak, a tiny crack between dimensions. It was here where the dark magic leeched through. It was here where the summons issued forth.

Had there been somebody in the t^hrone room they would’ve heard the rapid hoof fall of a galloping horse that vibrated across the causeway that led to the castle. They would’ve smelt the brimstone, and felt the damp mist as it swirled after and flooded in the horse’s wake. They would’ve known that the Pooka, and its doomed rider had come.

The large door to the throne room swung in and the black horse, red eyes glaring, stutter stepped sideways, hoofs clacking against the hard floor. On its back was a dark hooded figure, features obscured. Although it had been once human it was now just another part of the Pooka.

In the beginning, when Bevis had been trapped on the Pooka’s back, terror had been the taste of his doom. He was destined to ride till death claimed him, and he vanished into the wind as blown ashes, but his cold guile and sharp intelligence had else to say. He was not bereft of magic, all he had to do was to suppress the terror and think. He had at one time controlled the Pooka as the Logheryman, Angus Campbell O’Brien, and the Pooka was not without reason. It just functioned under a different code. Understand the code and you understood the rules, understand the rules and you can either break them or remake them. So began his seduction of the Pooka. However, each route taken, each turn, only led him back to the cold reality that he would eventually be ridden to death. Then, in a moment of surprise, the Pooka, being immune to emotions surrounding death, suggested something else to Bevis.

If you are so concerned with this mortal cessation why not be absorbed?

You want me to become another face in the mists that you feed on? asked Bevis in despair. He did not trust the creature that had no idea of morality, of the concept of good or evil.

The Pooka snorted: I have enough of those. I don’t need to consume you in that way, besides, I value brilliance.

And Bevis was forced to consider what he had not seen. The avoidance came from his lack of knowledge. What did absorption entail? And after it was done, what would remain of him, if anything? Would he just cease to exist? This he could not tolerate, because above everything, he feared death.

You mustn’t think of it as that, advised the Pooka. I am not a Revenant and therefore do not hunger all the time. I sup on the terror in the mist. It would be nice to sup with another.

So, the dialogue continued until in time Bevis acquiesced. And with what little choice he had, he agreed to absorption, and the dark rider was born. It was with opened eyed surprise that the absorption had already been happening – gradually.

Oh, that, responded the Pooka. I knew you would say yes, eventually.

It was like standing on the shore, looking down through the water at a bottomless drop off. All he had to do was take a deep breath and step. Gravity, and his weight, what there was left of it, would assist the plunge and that was all there was to it.

When it was done, outwardly things didn’t appear to have changed much. The Pooka still had a rider and was followed by a mist of terror filled faces. It was inside where the true change had taken place. The horse’s limbs were now an extension of his body, so the rider became the Pooka, and the Pooka the rider. Bevis found his consciousness opening up to a greater, more terrible reality and he took joy in it.

He saw the dark world, the world of hunger from which the Pooka came. He saw into the dizzying depths of time that seemed to have no end and no beginning and began to learn. He began to leave the past behind, because the past and future, for a creature that could not die, had no reference. His mind opened up in the consuming hunger of the present. With Zuhayer and Bunk and Tellings, this was the search of their lives, and now, in a strange twist of fate, it was his, and he laughed.

It was with this mad, terrible laughter that echoed through the throne room of banishment. The Pooka had no love for the Revenant. There had always been incessant war between demons. They came not to honour the Revenant, but to drink of the dark magic that had been leaking into the chamber. They could smell its dark tendrils of promise and took delight in it.

They had sensed its summons from a great distance. It had the feel of home. It was magic dark, and promised a great opportunity. It invited closer examination. In the centre of the throne room, there was a crack, a microscopic crack from which the tendrils of magic emanated. They swirled upwards and lovingly enwrapped the withers, body, trunk and head of the Pooka. Inhaling they let the dark power enter. It enlivened them, it made them bold of purpose, and it whispered promises. It had been such a long time since they had taken in the power of the Leere. In the old world the Leere was the foundation of dark magic. It was the hunger that destroyed all. Now the Leere was calling to them. It was telling them that now, after a long time of mindless feeding, they had purpose, and they had mission.

The Leere had whispered its instructions. They were to assist in a great work. They were to bring together a great union and establish a great, new world, a world full of prey, which would satisfy the gnawing hunger.

The rider held out his hand and a tendril of the dark mist wafted off the chamber’s floor and found it. It touched the hand tentatively, then writhed about it in a familiar grasp. Between thumb and forefinger appeared a glass tube and into that glass tube flowed the mist.

For the Leere, the natural magic of Faerie was too strong for it to exist outside the castle’s walls, so within it lurked and planned and summoned. The Pooka knew what to do with the vial. It was now an emissary, full of purpose and destiny. It would be the van guard of a terrible host that would change the world. It would take the essence of the Leere into the very heart of Faerie itself. It would take the contagion to the Faerie Queen, and there the great unifying work would begin.

Deep within the Pooka’s consciousness resided Bevis, and he saw something else in the dark mist, something familiar, a great magic within Horwood House, and he felt the desire to possess it. He thought how impossible that was, and then he thought of himself within the Pooka and realized that possibility was only a matter of perspective.

The smell of verdant, growing things burned into their noses as they moved along the path. Periodically they would stop to check, to see if they were going in the right direction. Magic, Faerie magic, had a particular scent. It was green and blue and full of growing things, and it was repulsive. The scent was getting stronger, as they approached the source. Then the Pooka stopped; the magic left a path, and now that path split.

Interesting, thought the Pooka. The Leere had whispered instructions to them before departing the castle. It had said, in sibilant tones that there were two places of power, and that each would have to be dealt with in their own time. Now, before them was the question, which one first.

Both Pooka and Bevis looked inwards to regard each other as if to say which way? One path was broad and held the fresh scent of recently used magic while the other was older and far away. Upon which path would their venture meet with the greatest success?

Then they sensed something watching them, considering, deciding on whether to attack or not. Whatever was watching was extremely foolish or mad. It also had the scent of a shifter.

Come out, we know you are there, said Bevis. The horse snorted.

The Pooka was anxious to be about the will of the Leere, but Bevis was more cautious, ever weighing the possible advantages and disadvantages any opportunity might bring.

Patience, said the Bevis. Patience. Come out and we won’t hurt you.

Silently, from the bush, stepped a tall woman in a dark blue gown. Even though she was dirty and her gown was torn in several places, she moved with nobility. Her graceful motions marked her as a Lady Moore. Behind her shambled a tall, gangly creature dressed in what appeared to be the remains of a tuxedo. At the end of his long arms were hands large enough and strong enough to crush stone.

What brings a Lady Moor and her Butler into the forest? asked Bevis.

There was madness in the eyes of the woman. The troth is broken. The one we worship is gone. All that is left to us is vengeance and despair.

The Butler attacked with such force that Pooka had to rear and lash out. One hoof caught the Butler a glancing blow on the side of the head. It was enough to stun him, allowing the Pooka to side step away. The Butler gathered himself for another attack.

How could they not recognize us, thought Bevis.

The Pooka threw its head back defiantly: They have fallen. All they know is to destroy, which is admirable, but it exposes us.

The Lady Moor had also joined the attack. She reached and grabbed Bevis, hoping to dismount the rider, not aware that the rider was part of the horse. Her fingers, armed with sharp nails, sank into the flank of the Pooka, making long, red slashes. The Pooka nudged her away. With a screech she fell back into the dirt.

We must not hurt them, thought the Pooka. There is use in them yet.

The black skin of the Pooka, red flesh steaming, healed instantly. It was the pulsing glow that must have triggered some remembrance in the Lady Moore because she scrambled, like a crab away. She stumbled and fell, her filthy hands going to her mouth to cover her shock. She crawled, trembling, onto her knees and bowed her head and was still. The Butler was also kneeling.

Then the answer to the Leere’s quest was there. It was hanging before them like a ripe fruit, waiting to be picked.

Arise, daughter of the Revenant, said Bevis.

This title seemed to clear her mind like smelling salts, and she rose to her feet, straightened her back and lifted her chin as though she had once again found worth. The Butler was now standing by her side, blood dripping down the side of his face. She made a tiny curtsey which Bevis found quaint and the Pooka neighed derisively.

I am yours to command, she said. There was a fervent, desperate look in her eyes that bespoke of a lethal fanaticism. She had just replaced her worship for the Revenant with that of the rider and the horse.

Bevis nodded. This was perfect. He reached into the folds of his cloak and pulled out the vial of dark vapour. He motioned her closer and handed the precious vial down to her. She cradled it with wonder. With open, expectant eyes she stared up at him.

It is from where the Revenant came from. It is most precious. Come close and I will tell you what I want you to do with it.

The Lady Moor approached eagerly and Bevis placed his dark hand on her head. A bolt of understanding shot through her body and she knew what was required of her and she rejoiced. At long last she had found noble service and sacrifice.

***

Night Star had a new dress, and her Butler a new tuxedo. The rider had done this for them and so much more, now, all they had to do was to carry out the plan. She felt the vial, hidden in a secret pocket in the dress against her skin. It made her vibrate to know that part of everything she worshipped depended on her.

They were being followed. She had known this for a while. Her Butler, as well as herself, could smell the stench of fairies, their offensive magic. Eventually they would show themselves. They would have to because they were getting closer and closer to the Queen’s residence, to her Court. It was only a matter of time before they were stopped.

And time came. One moment they were on an empty path that stretched off through the woods, and the next they were block by a detachment of Oak Guard: the Queen’s own household guard.

Mostly, Night Star had only seen female fairies and that had been enough for her, but the Oak Guard was a new experience. As tall as she was, but male, they wore the crimson and gold livery of the Queen. They were armed with bows and long knives. A stalwart guard, with a scarred face approached. She marked him as their Captain.

You can not pass, he said.

She smiled, slow, languorously. Your name is Eoin and you are captain of the Queen’s Oak Guard. I have come carrying a gift from my people: a gift for her. She had noticed that the mention of his name had startled him.

But then it was gone, replaced by an unyielding demeanour. By knowing his name she had some power over him, but it was not enough to make him give way. You can not pass. The way is barred. You must go back.

Night Star pretended to look hurt, but then shrugged. Well, then, if I can’t go forward, perhaps you can take my gift of treat to the Queen. Before he could say anything she had the vial out and had unstopped it. She thrust it at the captain, and the dark mist shot out and engulfed Eoin and the rest of the Oak Guard. When the mist dissipated, Night Star began to laugh, an ungovernable, maniacal laughter that echoed up into the canopy of the trees.

Eoin’s knife slashed her throat and she fell to the ground. The Butler also lay beside her, a strange smile on his pale face. He had not put up a fight. Their blood drained from their wounds, mingled and was absorbed by the forest floor staining it black.

Eoin looked at the Lady Moore’s blood on his hands, and went to wipe it off, but the blood would not be removed. Then it vanished, absorbed into his skin. He thought it odd but he commanded his detachment to turn back to the Court.

It happened exceedingly fast, but his thoughts changed, from protecting the Queen to killing her. Eoin and the Oak Guard now had a different mission and that was to destroy the Queen. The Oak Guard, to anyone who saw them, looked the same, except for the eyes. The colour of their irises had changed to blood red, and as they marched, growing things beneath their feet began to die.

Chapter Two: Assassination

Ariel had been banished from court, and now her mother, the Queen, wanted her back. She ran through the number of possible reasons why this should be so, and was quickly stymied; in truth, there was no reason for any reconciliation. She had broken the unbreakable rule of the Court: association, under any circumstances, with shifters was forbidden. Ariel saw no middle ground. Her mother would not budge, and Ariel would not abandon her new friends. Her association with Eir, the resurrected Valkyrie, now become seer, had made her mother apoplectic. It was this that had elicited her banishment. It didn’t matter that Eir was no longer in Faerie. Ariel was guilty through association. A shifter was a violation of the old law, the law of purity. But that was just the tip of things. Her new friends: Colin, Spike, Melissa and Rhea had opened her mind up to what could be.

Ariel thrust a hand into her petal dress and found the marble that Colin had left her in a secret pocket. He had saved her when she had been imprisoned with Riley, the leprechaun, at the Revenant’s dinner table. There they doomed to be slowly consumed. Colin and Maestro had rescued them. Might Colin be able to help out now? Pulling out the marble she concentrated. She felt something stir, as though a thought was wakening from a slumber, and then a hand grasped her shoulder, and Ariel dropped the marble.

You’re late, said the deep voice.

She twisted about to find herself staring up into the rugged face of Eoin, the Queen’s captain of her privy guard. He was, incidentally, Ariel’s father. She shrugged away from his grasp, which was none to gentle. There was something odd about him, something different. Then, suddenly his knife was out and his eyes blazed crimson. For a moment she thought he was going to use the knife on her.

Eoin? she asked trying to keep her voice from the panic she felt.

The red in his eyes suddenly faded and his knife swung away. He bowed his head: My apologies, princess.

Eoin, what’s the matter?

He gave a stiff grunt and repeated, You’re late. Then he leaned forward and whispered into her ear. If we come under attack, run for the court.

Attack? What are you talking about? What’s the matter? Is the Queen all right? She dipped down to retrieve the marble from the grass.

Eoin’s eyes were sweeping the area, the little pool of water, the trees whose roots drooped to drink, anything that caused a leaf to rustle. Nothing is right. I’m alone because I don’t trust anyone. His voice, full of paranoia, was far from his usual self-assured confidence.

You’re men? You don’t trust them? How could he not trust the Oak Guard, dedicated to the Queen’s safety, picked by the Queen herself? Eoin, if you don’t trust your own men…

She’ll be fine, for now. She’s the one who told me to find you, to tell you to ignore the summons.

Ignore the summons – you don’t ignore the Queen’s summons… There was something dreadfully wrong here; she could smell the perversion, of a strange type of magic she had only scented once before -- at the Revenant’s table!

Ariel felt as though the earth had just sucked out the strength from her legs. All was not well in Faerie. Not even the Queen could take back a summons once it was issued; it defied Faerie magic, it made it crooked. She hesitated.

Do you mind if I grab a few things?

Eoin looked at her suspiciously but then nodded. Hurry.

She ducked into the cavity in the tree trunk she had converted into a make shift home. Using the little magic she had, she had fashion a homey habitat, made a bed, a kitchen and a place to read. It wasn’t much, but she had felt safe there, until