Page 2 of Till Kingdom Come

Kent was known for many things. It was the first part of England to be colonized, and one of the seven kingdoms of Anglo-Saxon England, so it had a long and impressive history, and my family had been a part of it almost from the start. The area was known for its large wetlands and its close proximity to the sea. But even more importantly, and probably its biggest claim to fame, was the fact that it bordered on the edge of the Liminal, which was more commonly known as the Realm of the Fae.

A hundred or more years ago, when my ancestors had first come to live here, a deal had been made with the Fae tribes who lived closest to our land. It was an arrangement that allowed our family to live near the border in relative peace and safety, as long as we kept up our end of the bargain and never, ever crossed over the border into Fae lands without their express permission. So far, we had always strictly adhered to that rule. But now my father had directed his sons to go hunting in the woods adjacent to the Liminal, because he said he had a taste for wild boar. He reminded us to be cautious because it was easy to stray over the border, unaware.

The Liminal was frankly an impossible place that shouldn’t have existed but did. It was the home of Fae creatures and somehow existed between the mortal realm and all the others.It was said there were many of them, some very small, and others quite vast. Some were too far away to reach, while others sat almost on top of us. They were the in-between, magical places, transitional and transformative, sometimes there and sometimes not—realms that were somewhere in time and space, though no one could say exactly where, brushing against the borders of our mortal world in only a few special places.

They wouldn’t show up on any mortal maps, but those of us who lived near one of them were well aware of their existence. The Fae realm, nearest us, was a vast, wild and mostly uncharted territory. No one, to my knowledge, had ever mapped it in its entirety, so no one had any real idea of how big it was, or even where the various Fae tribes were located inside it. A few intrepid mortals had tried to explore it or simply travel there, but they had all disappeared without a trace. I had grown up close to two such realms and rarely ever gave them a second thought. One was in the sea and unreachable—lying somewhere in the English Channel’s depths off the coast. But the other bordered our estate and was in the deepest, darkest part of the forest.

Normally, none of the realms were accessible to mortals—except in the time of the Solstices, when “the veil” between the realms was extremely thin. Then, it became easy to slip across and not even know you’d done it. Once inside, however, it was almost impossible to get back out.

Again, I didn’t really know. No one did, because no one who had ever been there had ever come back. They had simply vanished. Everything I knew was from stories and legends.

All types of Fae tribes lived in and around the Liminal’s edges, too, like pixies, leprechauns, ogres, vampires, selkies, goblins, banshees, brownies, dwarves—so many more. The two largest races who inhabited the Liminal realm were the Fairies and the Elves, rumored to be mostly in a wild and frozen land farther to the north.

A few tribes lived farther south. Closer to my father’s estate were the Woodland Fairies, a gorgeous, flighty bunch that were said to be both amorous and magical. They were the same size as the Sidhe, but not so malevolent, though they were still Fairies and thus, couldn’t be trusted.

The Dark Fairy tribes of the Sidhe were much larger and fiercer, but all of them were war-like and easy to anger, and their greatest enemies were the Elves. In fact, the Elves and the Fairies seemed to be in a perpetual state of war.

These Dark Fae preferred places that were scarcely populated, and rumor had it that they came often to our realm, so they could prey on mortals and then melt back across the border with ease.

It was with trepidation that my brothers and I would be hunting so perilously close to the border that day in June, and we needed to be careful not to stray over it without so much as a by-your-leave to any of the Fairies. It wouldn’t have been intentional if we had, but that mattered very little. From what I knew of the Fae, none of them were particularly forgiving.

My brothers and I had ridden out that morning, heading for the deepest part of the forest on our father’s estate, where wild boar and deer were plentiful. It had been a lovely summer day, warm, if a bit overcast. We’d only been there a short time when I happened to spot a boar and began to pursue it. I’ve wondered since if the boar were even real, or if he were a figment of my imagination. I’d chased him at least a half a mile before I had a chance to get off a bolt from my crossbow. I shot it into the huge wild hog, and it took off loudly squealing into the thick underbrush. I’d followed it as best I could, but I was in the oldest part of the forest, still on my father’s land, or so I thought, though the trail wasn’t well marked. It looked as if no one had been through there for a long time, and I remember thinking that was odd, since I’d hunted that area just the week before.

Somehow, I found myself separated from the others, and even though I blew my hunting horn again and again and called for them at the top of my lungs, I received no answer. Suddenly the wild boar I’d been chasing and thought I’d lost came crashing back out through the bushes, heading straight for me.

My startled horse reared and bolted, spilling me off its back and landing me in the middle of a prickly bush. Luckily the beast didn’t pursue the attack, but by the time I’d extricated myself from the bush, my horse had fled the scene. I found myself alone in the deep woods, and to make matters worse, I realized as I got back up to my feet that I had twisted my ankle, and it was painful to walk.

Nevertheless, I struggled back up and started trying to find the trail. I was used to taking rough falls from my mount, having participated from a really young age in the tournament games my father loved, along with my brothers. My father would have scoffed at such a minor injury and taken the flat side of his sword to us or even his fists if we’d ever cried out or made any complaint. I searched around for a few minutes and found a stout, fallen branch from a tree to lean on. I was limping my way back toward where I thought the main trail might be, when I suddenly stepped into a clearing and found myself surrounded by Sidhe Fairies.

I hadn’t been thinking of anything in particular except catching up with that boar that morning, and I hadn’t given so much as one thought to the fact that today was the start of the Midsummer Solstice.

My heart sank when I saw the soldiers, because I remembered how dangerous it was to have anything to do with the Fairies. My mother, who had been called Ashlin, had abandoned Sir John’s house when I was very young—perhaps as young as four or five years old. One day she was there, and the next, she was simply gone, never to be seen again. At least, not by me.

My father never spoke of her afterward. She had left me behind, so he’d told one of the maids to see to my needs and that was that. I had only my memories of her, and thankfully, they were vivid. I still remembered sitting in her lap as she brushed my hair, singing me lullabies and telling me stories about all the Fae creatures surrounding the human world. She seemed to be most frightened of the Dark Fairies and the Elves, and she would shudder when I asked for stories of them. She claimed they were evil, dangerous and warlike.

I had known right away that the men surrounding me were most likely Woodland Fairies from the nearby city of Solaria. They weren’t as dangerous as the Dark Fairies, but close enough. The Solarian tribe lived closest to my family’s estate, and they had been the ones who had attended my father’s tournament a year earlier.

On that day, I had first met Ellien, the Lord of Solaria, it had been a typical day in Kent—in other words, soggy and miserable. Though it was in the month of May—a couple of weeks before the Solstice—it had rained all morning, so the fields were muddy and treacherous for both the horses and the men. My father had told me that Lord Ellien was fascinated by the jousting and the other games, including swordplay, most especially, and he had recently sent word that he would be there at the Tournament that day. It was highly unusual, to say the least, but my father said he was hopeful that Lord Ellien might wish to bet a little of that Fairy gold we had heard so much about, and he was hopeful they might return often.

Since I loved fighting with swords and lances, and since I practiced all the time, and I thought I was particularly good at it, I couldn’t wait to show off to him. Not being a knight, I was only participating in the Games that day as a squire for my father, but my friends and I had mock battles during our down time between bouts, so I made sure we sparred near the viewing stand. I much preferred my friends to my brothers, who would always try to hurt me if they could or even put me out of commission altogether.

My stepmother, who disagreed with my father about us participating in the games as his squires and footmen, was sure that one of us would be killed every time we participated. She was also far too timid and afraid of my father to truly object. She was my father’s fourth wife, and my mother’s successor. My father never had much to do with her, like he never had my own mother. Perhaps he simply wasn’t the kind of man to let sentiment or feelings interfere with his life in any way.

My stepmother was kind and loved us as best she could, but I don’t believe she had the capacity to do much more than to mildly protest against our participation in the games. My father paid her little mind, though she was right to worry. Many knights and their squires and foot soldiers actually were killed each year in the games. Matches were bloody and injuries were common.

Once, during a tournament held near Chalon, things turned deadly when the Duke of Burgundy tried to pull King Edward I off his horse. Considering this to be unchivalrous, Edward had lost his temper and galloped away with the duke still clinging to him and dragging the ground. Foot soldiers and squires on both sides then entered the fight, literally shooting crossbow bolts at one another. The tournament became known as the Little Battle of Chalon, and participants and even spectators had been killed in the fighting.

My father saw no shame in that story, but only glory.

Perhaps my father thought he was toughening up his sons for their inevitable military service later on. Certainly, I’d seen my blood flow often enough and had been unseated from my horse many, many times. Then again, he had six sons, all of us in good health, which was an uncommon thing when I was growing up. Perhaps he thought he had some of us to spare. Those of us who were not my eldest brother, that is.

The rest of us weren’t going to inherit and therefore were literally “spares” who would eventually be obliged to become either a military officer or a clergyman. Though for a man like my father, knightly service to the king was everything.

It was the only profession he would entertain for his sons as a respectable field of endeavor, except maybe—possibly—the church. That was also open to those of us who were born of the gentry, but the church probably never expected nor wanted the kind of heathens we’d been raised to be. So, the clergy was probably not for any of us, and my father, a non-believer far before that kind of thing was acceptable, more than likely wouldn’t have really admired that choice much anyway.

As for me, I wanted to be a soldier for the new young queen Elizabeth. I wanted to be a knight, and I had been practicing since I was a small child. I had often played with wooden swords and lances against my brothers and my friends. They were a way for us as would-be knights to learn and to show off our fighting skills, and display our chivalrous qualities, though at that early age, there was far more savagery than chivalry, I’m afraid.

Lord Ellien had indeed noticed me as we practiced near him, waiting for the jousting to start. We were only using old, cast-off swords, but the Fairy lord stayed to watch us and seemed to greatly admire my skills. He paid a great deal of attention to me anyway. He later told my father he admired my ability with a sword. My father even asked me over to the viewing stands so I could meet the Fairy lord. He had been most cordial and had given me a token of his favor, a beautiful, silken scarf that he took from around his own neck and tied around mine. I’d been thrilled and flattered.

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