Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries (Emily Wilde, #1)(6)
*4 Faerie stones can be found in a variety of regions, being particularly common in Cornwall and the Isle of Man. They are unimpressive in appearance and hard to recognize with the untrained eye; their most distinguishing feature is their perfect roundness. They seem primarily to be used to store enchantments for later use or perhaps for the purposes of gift-giving. Danielle de Grey’s 1850 Guide to Elfstones of Western Europe is the definitive resource on the subject. (I am aware that many dryadologists today ignore de Grey’s research on account of her many scandals, but whatever else she was, I find her a meticulous scholar.) A faerie stone with a crack down it has been spent and is thus harmless. An intact stone should be left untouched and reported to ICAD, the International Council of Arcanologists and Dryadologists.
21st October
Normally, I sleep poorly in foreign accommodations, but I surprised myself by resting soundly until Finn’s promised knock came at half seven.
I rose from the straw-stuffed bed that took up nearly the entirety of the little bedroom, shivering in the cold. The only fire was in the main room, and it was down to the embers. I threw a robe over my nightdress and padded to the door with Shadow at my heels.
Finn greeted me with the same formality into which he had retreated yesterday, setting upon the table a tray of bread—still warm despite the chilly walk from the farmhouse—as well as a bowl of some form of quivering yogurt and a disturbingly large hard-boiled egg.
“Goose,” he said when I enquired. “Did you not bank the fire last night?”
I confessed that I had little idea what this signified, and he kindly demonstrated a particular method of stacking the wood and raking the coals within the fireplace that would ensure a long, continuous release of heat as well as easier re-ignition come morning. I thanked him with perhaps an overabundance of enthusiasm, and he smiled with his former warmth.
He enquired after my plans for the day, and I stated my intention to become acquainted with the surrounding terrain.
“Your father informed me in his letters that within the Karr?arskogur can be found a variety of brownies, as well as trooping faeries,” I said. “I understand from my research into the scant accounts of your Folk that the courtly fae are more apt to travel with the snows, from which I gather that sightings of their ilk will be unlikely for some days yet.”
Finn looked astonished. “Did my father use those words?”
“No. Brownies and trooping fae are the two largest subcategories of common fae invented by scholars—your people, I believe, refer to the common fae as ‘little ones’ or ‘wee Folk’ when you make the distinction at all. They are, as you know, usually quite small, child-sized or less. Brownies are solitary and are generally those faeries who involve themselves in mortal affairs—thefts, minor curses, blessings. Trooping fae travel in groups and keep mostly to their own.”
Finn gave a slow nod. “And I suppose, then, that you have a separate word for the tall ones?”
“Yes, we place all humanlike faeries into the category of courtly fae—you understand, then, that there are two main groupings of Folk, courtly and common. As far as the courtly fae are concerned, there are too many subcategories to list, and I’ve little idea whether any of them will apply to those you call the ‘tall ones.’?”
“We rarely call them anything,” Finn said. “It’s bad luck.”
“A not uncommon belief. The Maltese are much the same. Though their courtly fae are more troublesome than average, having an unfortunate habit of creeping into houses at night to feast upon slumberers’ vital organs.”
He showed little surprise at this gruesome detail, which puzzled and intrigued me. The Maltese Folk are singularly vicious—on that front, they have no known equals among the fae. What manner of Folk inhabited this forbidding country?
“I’d have thought you’d want to settle in first,” he said, casting a dubious look around the cottage. “Finish your unpacking, buy some provisions. Say hello to the neighbours. You’ll be here a while.”
The last item in this list nearly made me shudder. “Not long at all, from a scholarly perspective,” I said. “My return passage is booked on a freighter departing April the first. I shall be very busy. Some dryadologists spend years in the field.” I added, with the aim of inserting into Finn’s mind a sense of the polite distance I customarily keep between myself and the locals: “And as for the neighbours, doubtless I shall meet them at the tavern tonight.”
Finn’s face broke into a grin. “That you shall. With the harvest done, some folk rarely leave the place. I’ll let Aud know you’ll be there—and Ulfar. That’s her husband, he runs things. He’s a nice enough sort, though a bit of a cold fish. You won’t get many words from him.”
This recommended Ulfar to me far more than Aud, though I did not say so. “And I gather from your father that Aud is the…go?i, is she?” I tripped a little over the unfamiliar word, which I understood indicated a sort of village headwoman.
Finn nodded. “These days, it’s a ceremonial thing, but we like to keep the old traditions going. Aud will certainly be able to supply you with stories of the Hidden. And I know she’ll take a fancy to any stories you have of London. We likes tales of the outside world around here.”
“Yes, well, we shall see what the evening brings. My visit may be short, depending on my fatigue after today’s endeavours.”