Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries (Emily Wilde, #1)(62)

“Leave her be, leave her be,” Thora’s voice grumbled, and her bony hand wrapped round my wrist and pulled me to her usual cosy and out-of-the-way nook next to the fire.

“Thank you,” I murmured, collapsing into the other chair.

She gave a rumble of laughter. “The way you froze! You looked like a startled badger.”

I didn’t argue with her unflattering choice of metaphor, merely folded myself deeper into the chair. “Have you seen Wendell?”

“Why would I know where that creature’s gotten to? He’s your faerie. What’s the matter?”

I nearly bit my tongue in consternation. My faerie! Good grief. “Nothing is the matter. Only I believe I’ve worked out the reason why your village has lost so many to the tall ones in recent years. And why it will keep happening, if nothing is done to stop it.”

I hadn’t meant to tell her, but the words just spilled out of me in my excitement. Thora’s face hardened, and she held up a hand. “Wait a moment, girl.”

Seconds later, Thora had dragged Aud over to join our tête-à-tête. “What’s all this, Emily?” she said, grasping my hand warmly.

“The changeling,” I said. “Before his arrival in Hrafnsvik, your village lost few youths to the Hidden Ones. All your stories concur about that—once in a generation, perhaps, often less frequently. Neighbouring villages have not been similarly affected, which means there is something about Hrafnsvik that draws them.”

“They wish to take the child back, then?” Aud said, puzzled.

“No. It is a motif that appears often in the literature, which has been called the lantern theory—” I stumbled to a stop. How did I explain this to ordinary people? How did I explain that the stories they tell to children, or for diversion on cold nights spent by the fire, held the deepest of truths—that they were in fact keys to unlocking the secrets of the Folk? “It’s as if—the Folk are drawn to places of great magic. Changelings require the greatest magic of all, to take a faerie child and embed him in the mortal realm so securely he cannot be removed. And your changeling is especially powerful. And so the courtly fae are drawn here, even if they themselves have no connection to him, perhaps without even realizing they are being drawn.”

Aud’s brows were knitted together. “A lantern. Yes. But how do we put the light out?”

“There’s only one way.” Thora’s voice was hard, but she reached out one weathered hand and rested it on Aud’s shoulder. “It’s what I’ve been saying for years, Aud. You said no, when it was just Mord and Aslaug that creature was hurting. But it’s the whole village now. Which of our children will be taken next, if we do nothing?”

“Ari,” Aud said as she let out her breath. “I’m godmother to that child.”

“Yes.” Thora’s voice didn’t soften. “And how many other children are you godmother to?”

Aud pressed her hand to her eyes. When she took it away, she looked much older, and I saw the kinship between her and Thora there like a reflection out of time. But Aud didn’t acquiesce; instead, she fixed me with a hard look, as if to say, Well?

“If we knew his name,” I began unsteadily. “The changeling’s true name. We could use it to banish him.”

Thora leaned back in her chair with a dismissive sound. “We know that. You don’t think we tried to trick him into telling us, when he first came here? They guard their names closely.”

Aud said nothing, merely kept her eyes on me.

“Let me think on it,” I said. “Do nothing for now. Please.”

“Don’t think too long,” Thora said, her face dark. “We heard the bells again last night. They’ve never sounded so regularly before. They will take another child, and soon.”





26th November—late


I don’t know what to make of this development, which has unnerved me more than any changeling or faerie beast ever could. Perhaps putting my thoughts to pen and paper will help.

After my conversation with Aud and Thora, I went back to the cottage. Wendell had still not returned, and after about an hour, I decided to search for him. We nearly ran into each other on the path leading up the mountain; he came strolling out of the twilight with his hands buried in his pockets and his gaze downcast, frowning and lost in thought. Crystals of snow nestled in his golden hair, which was very distracting. I am used to ignoring his good looks, but that hair of his is a difficult matter. I’ve observed that most people are taken in by his smile or his eyes, but for me, it’s that damned hair—one can’t help imagining what it feels like, is the problem.

He lifted his eyes when he heard my footfall, and his face lit. “There you are, Em! Slinking about in the half-light, how very like you.”

I didn’t bother asking where he’d been. If he wanted to be secretive, let him. Shoving aside my relief at his return, which filled me with an unaccountable feeling of lightness, I said, “I need your help.”

“Of course you do. Can we get out of this bloody cold, at least? You won’t believe it, but I have a hankering for one of Ulfar’s mutton chops—”

I grabbed his hand and dragged him back to the cottage. He seemed a little taken aback, but let himself be dragged, his graceful fingers closing around mine.