Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

T hey walked along a narrow path down the hill and over a few streams that rippled along with the land. The dark forest fell back in the distance behind them, and when Carys looked over her shoulder, the grabbing hands and noisy chaos of their passage felt farther and farther away. The dreamlike melancholy that had pressed down on her as they walked through the darkness lifted, and she felt more like herself again.

"You said that was a gate." She looked at Duncan's back. "A gate between what?"

"The Brightlands and the Shadowlands," he said. "Between our home and Lachlan's. Quiet now."

Carys held on to the million questions that were jumping in her mind as she focused on the path they were hiking.

The hills evened out as they walked down the slope from the dark forest and through a thinner stand of trees. The path switched back and forth, and the undergrowth grew thinner. Hawthorn, ash, and oak mingled together, their discarded foliage leaving a golden-brown carpet between the trees while moss dripped from bare branches overhead. Verdant green blanketed tangled tree roots that reached up from the forest floor.

The moody grey skies covered them, and Carys could see no hint of sunlight. In the deep shadows of the hardwood forest around them, she caught glimpses of movement, thin figures darting among the trees, but she heard no birds.

There was a scattering rush of leaves as the wind picked up the fallen detritus and whirled it across the path.

"And you've been here before," she said. "You walked through that when you were young?"

"Yes."

"What is this place?" Carys was looking around, and she knew in her gut that this wasn't Scotland. Or at least no version of Scotland she knew. The landscape looked familiar, but there were no roads and no people in sight. She didn't see cows or sheep. There were no electrical lines or signs telling her where they were. The light felt flat somehow, as if the sky was painted a wash of grey blue that never changed.

"It should be night," Carys said.

"No, because it's night in the Brightlands, which means it's day here."

An alternate dimension? The thing that Laura had always told her was possible but she hadn't really believed. How on earth had they gotten here? By walking through a forest?

"Duncan, please." She stopped walking. "I need a real explanation. Where are we?"

He turned and glared at her. "I asked you if you believed in fairy tales and you said you did."

"I believe in fairy tales as a metaphor for life and the human experience. They're a learning tool to teach culture and…" She looked around at the strangely familiar but wholly foreign place. She pinched her hand. Hard. "This isn't a metaphor ."

"Oh really?" He scowled. "I warned you to go back. Now we're here, so unless you've finally given up on this ludicrous quest?—"

"No." She wanted to find Lachlan. She had to, but she needed answers now. "I want to keep going, but can you…"

There was a distant cry overhead, and it was not a bird. Or it wasn't any bird that Carys had ever known.

"I'll answer your questions, Carys Morgan." Duncan's voice was low and urgent. "But right now we're in the Borderlands. This is dark fae country."

Dark fae. This could not be real. She was losing her mind.

"And they do not like humans trespassing," he continued. "Especially not Brightkin like us. It's very wild here, so we need to keep going."

She looked back at the forest. "But he brought us."

"They can't stop us from entering because we came with Dru, but they don't like us—he's not very popular either—and we need to keep walking." He glanced around. "We'll be safer in the lowlands."

"Okay." Carys nodded and started to walk again. "Okay."

Duncan reached back and took her hand, squeezing it as they walked.

Dark fae. Duncan had said dark fae like they were real.

And whatever Dru had been bleeding back there, it was not human blood, which meant that Dru… wasn't human, or at least he wasn't human like she and Duncan were.

Wait, was Duncan human?

The movement in her peripheral vision was subtle and quick, but anytime she turned her head to look, the forest was a still landscape, like a painting hanging on a wall, save for flashes of red hawthorn berries breaking the monotonous canvas of brown, green, and black.

"Stop looking," he whispered. "They've noticed you."

"The dark fae?"

"Please, for the love of all things holy, be quiet and let me explain when we're not here ."

She sucked in the torrent of far more important questions and muttered, "Really glad I'm not wearing that red coat."

He grunted something that might have been a laugh .

Long minutes later, the land evened out and the forest grew thinner. The occasional bird fluttered overhead, and insects began to chirp and saw through the bushes. Dark pines gave way to lighter hardwoods, and the occasional evergreen dotted the landscape along with hedgerows and widening paths.

Duncan's shoulders slowly relaxed as the land around them turned from brown, black, and grey to green and blue. "I keep a cottage that's not far from here. We can rest there, and you can change."

"Change?"

He paused, turned, and looked her up and down. "Yes."

They paused when a tall woman crossed their path. She came walking through the trees, stopped, and stared at them for a moment.

Carys couldn't speak. The woman was thin as a willow branch and nearly as tall. Her golden-brown hair was straight and fell down her back, threaded with leaves and a few bright, berry-laden twigs. Her skin was golden brown, her ears were pointed, and gold rings pierced the tips.

Duncan paused and gave the silent woman a deep nod, but he didn't speak.

She stared at Carys with obvious curiosity, and Carys stared back. The woman cocked her head and blinked thick-lashed brown eyes. Like Dru, she wore sigils on her face, but they were delicately drawn, fine lines curling like tendrils from the arches of her cheeks up to her temples and into her hairline.

The woman stared for a few silent moments, and then Carys blinked and she was gone.

After a long moment, Duncan kept walking, gripping Carys's hand in his.

"What was she?" Carys couldn't stop the question, but she kept her voice low. "Was that an elf?"

"Light fae. You'll see them out and about more than the dark."

Duncan helped her over a stone wall and across a rolling meadow with lights dancing just over waving heads of ripe wheat. The horizon was growing lighter but never truly bright. It was as if a thick fog covered the sun, making the sky glow but with no clear radiance.

As they walked, the land grew warmer and the colors brighter. It was awash in hues that reminded Carys of a watercolor painting. Purple and deep green trees, blue-green meadows, and soft-gold fields. She saw the first sheep when they climbed over the next stone wall, this one cut with steps from whatever shepherd trod the path they were walking.

Carys sighed with relief. "Sheep and stone walls. Things are getting more familiar."

"Wouldn't be any kind of Scotland without sheep," he muttered. "Even an alternate one."

There was smoke in the distance, a curling grey puff of human habitation that tickled her nose with its familiar smell. They passed into a lane that was rutted with narrow wheel tracks and turned right, following the well-worn mud path.

"My cottage is just over this next hill."

She wasn't winded, but she felt tired. Still, the thrill of the unknown pulled her to waking and her body responded. The hills rose beside them, blanketed in colors that became more familiar the longer Carys looked at them.

The colors, the light, the clouds in the sky. She remembered where she'd seen them before.

"My mother painted landscapes like this." She smiled a little bit, a wave of inexplicable calm touching her soul. "This place looks just like one of her paintings."

"She was an artist?"

"Yes. I can't draw anything though."

"You're a teacher." He nodded. "Like your father."

Carys frowned. So few people associated her mythology studies with her father's humble high school wood shop, and she was surprised Duncan had made the connection.

"Yes. My father loved to teach."

"Your mother wouldn't have been here." Duncan looked around. " Maybe… in a dream. People dream of this place. Maybe some kind of memory through the eyes of her Shadowkin." He glanced over his shoulder. "But people from the Brightlands don't come to this place. Not on purpose."

"We're here."

"Yes, we are." He didn't sound happy about it. "And I'm going to hear about it."

When they reached the top of the hill, she saw it in the distance, just as she knew she would. A stone castle with four round towers, flags flying from the turrets and a high ridge with an old stone tower backing up to the castle. On the hills beyond, a dark forest stretched on for miles and miles. The only things missing were dragons flying overhead.

"I've seen this before," she murmured. "I know it."

"Come this way," he said quietly. "Quickly. They're used to seeing me, but you'll attract attention."

Duncan hustled her down a wider path, past an old oak tree hung with ribbons and bright coins. She could see what looked like a farm in the distance and more stone houses with smoke coming from them.

After the ribboned oak, they turned right and walked through a gate leading to a narrow path bordered by thick hedges. There was something in the underbrush that sounded like laughter, and a small animal scurried away.

"Mischief," Duncan muttered. "She better have been keeping the house if she's causing mischief."

"Who?"

"Auld Mags." He glanced over his shoulder. "I'll explain later."

"Yeah, you say that a lot."

The hedges opened, and in the middle of a bright meadow filled with long grasses, ferns, and coneflowers sat a round stone cottage with a thatched roof. There was a stacked chimney, and the garden around the house was filled with herbs and some overgrown vegetables.

"This is your house?" Behind the cottage was a neat shed with firewood stacked on the side, and beyond the shed, more trees. The forest was everywhere in this place. Lights winked from between the trees, and birds sang in a riot from the canopy. "It's beautiful."

Duncan grunted as they walked the winding path through the wild garden. "Lachlan keeps a room at Murrayshall House," he said. "He gave me this cottage for when I'm here." He walked to the arched wooden door, pushing it open and ushering Carys inside with one last guarded look over his shoulder.

"You don't keep it locked."

"I don't need to—it's protected." He immediately walked to the fireplace and threw some wood into the hearth, lifting an empty bowl that was sitting on the stones. "Let's get warm; then we'll find you some clothes and answer the million questions I see flying around your head."

She looked down at her sturdy hiking pants and shoes. "What's wrong with my clothes? I'm warm."

"You'll stand out." He looked her up and down. "That's going to be unavoidable, but we'll do what we can."

What Duncan could do was offer Carys a thick pair of overlong trousers made of a heavy woven fabric and a tunic that fell past her hips. He gave her a long tartan scarf to use as a belt and wrapped it around her shoulders for added warmth.

She walked out of the small bedroom at the back of the cottage to see Duncan already changed into a heavy kilt, a thick coat, and woolen clothes wrapped around his legs for warmth.

Carys looked down at herself—there wasn't a mirror in the place. Duncan looked like a highland warrior in a movie, and she looked like a child dressing in her older brother's clothes for a renaissance festival.

He nodded. "That'll do. Plenty of the women here don't wear dresses. The trousers won't stand out."

"As long as I don't trip on them. "

"You can stuff the legs in your boots." He frowned. "Boots might be a problem. None of mine will fit you, and the cobbler will take time." He glanced up. "No department stores in this place."

"Why can't I wear my own?"

"I already told you you're going to stand out enough already."

Carys walked over and sat on the wooden bench across from Duncan. They were next to the fire, and the warmth was more than welcome in the stone house. The bowl was back on the hearth, this time full of what looked like milk.

Carys frowned at it. "Okay, question-and-answer time."

Duncan rose. "I should get you some food. Are you hungry?"

"Food later, answers now."

He wanted to say something else, but instead he sat back down.

"Fine." He crossed his arms over his chest. "What do you want to know?"

"Where are we?"

"Dru already told you. The Shadowlands. Scotland of the Shadowlands to be precise. They call it Alba."

"Alba." That was an old name. "And Lachlan was born here?"

Duncan frowned. "In a way. This is where he grew up."

"So this is an alternate dimension of some kind?" She felt like a fool just asking it, but was there another explanation?

"I asked you if you believed in fairy tales, Carys. This is the fairy tale. Or this is where they come from." He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. "All over the world, people used to believe in magic, in monsters, and in gods. You think they were stupid? They were as intelligent as you or I. Maybe more."

"So you're saying that this world used to be our world? That they… split somehow?"

"I don't know. Maybe things were more fluid once. There are gates between the Shadowlands and the Brightlands. The forest behind my house only has one of them. Things get through sometimes. Not often, but sometimes. That's why there are still fairy sightings in Scone. That's why there are still Bigfoot sightings in your home. "

"Bigfoot isn't real," she murmured.

"Isn't he?"

A creeping fear slid along her skin. "If fairy tales are real. I mean really real?—"

"You know they are." He stared into her eyes. "You're here. You saw the forest. That fae woman passed us on the road. Did you imagine that?"

"No, but?—"

"But what?" He sat back and put his feet near the fire. "You've probably passed these gates before, but you won't want to go near them. Something about them would make you uneasy. Make you want to move away. And your modern, technology-trained mind probably dismissed strange lights in the forest or a shadow that seemed to move when it shouldn't." Duncan leaned forward. "A feeling in the pit of your stomach that doesn't make sense."

Carys looked into the fire. "That… flicker in the corner of your eye."

"Exactly."

Or the forest behind her house where her mother spoke to the trees.

Carys looked back at Duncan. "So you're saying that this place… the Shadowlands… have always been here?"

"I don't know." He shrugged. "I'm no expert on these things. You probably know more than I do based on what you teach. Whatever it is, wherever it came from, we're here now. This is the magic place, the otherworld— not the underworld—that's something else entirely according to Lachlan."

"The other world?" The annwn of Welsh mythology was the first thing that popped into her mind. Valhalla was another one. Worlds beside worlds, otherworlds where the gods dwelled and the brave survived even after death. She frowned. "Can people die here?"

"Oh yes." Duncan nodded. "People die. Fae can die too. I told you this isn't the underworld."

Carys's mind spun with the possibilities. A magic world living next to the real, grounded world. A world where magical creatures and magic existed. A world where Lachlan had grown up.

Duncan closed his eyes and sighed. "I've thought about this for years, and I still don't understand all of it. I suspect that over time, as our world became more and more steeped in science and technology, the gates became narrower, maybe some disappeared." He sat up and leaned toward the fire, holding his callused hands out to warm them. "The magic withdrew, but it didn't disappear. This place remained, populated by the wildness we'd left behind."

"So the humans here are…? Is Lachlan magic?"

"He's human." Duncan stood and started to pace a little bit. "But Shadowkin can learn to use magic. And some of them are a bit… They call it fae-touched here. Some humans have some natural magic. Lachlan is a bit fae-touched when it comes to music."

"So he was born here. If he has magic?—"

"Nothing is born here but by magic," Duncan said softly. "Every person you meet here is the twin of another person in our world. A Shadowkin. Our wild twins. A mirror self we've lost in the mundane world." Duncan's voice grew quiet. "They're born when we are, souls taken by magic and brought here."

Carys blinked. "By who?"

"By the old gods? The fae, spirits, goblins." He shrugged. "Any of them? All of them?" Duncan turned his back to the fire but didn't sit down. "I don't know, but you've seen Lachlan. He's my mirror image, and according to my mother, she only had one baby on my birthday. I've seen others too, people here wearing the faces of men and women I know in my world, people I grew up with. Neighbors I pass in the street. The same faces but not the same people."

"Lachlan and you are identical," Carys mused. "Except in personality."

"Aye, that's the truth. He's the uninhibited me. The charming one. The artist and the dreamer." A brief smile twisted Duncan's mouth as he sat across from her again. "Not practical, pragmatic Duncan Murray, the laird of Murrayshall." There was a sadness behind Duncan's eyes. "Everyone here is like that."

"You're saying everyone has a twin here." She frowned. "Everyone? Even me?"

Duncan turned his face to the fire. "Where were you born?"

"Wales. In a place called Caernarfon."

He nodded slowly. "Then your twin would have been taken there."

Carys tried to wrap her mind around that. "Shadowkin." Another her, walking around in this place steeped in magic. A sister in a sense, like Duncan and Lachlan were brothers. "So everyone we know in our world has a twin here?" She'd always wanted a sibling. A wild thrill fluttered in her chest. Maybe….

"No." Duncan's voice was harsh. "I said everyone in our world had a twin when they were born. Not all children…" He lowered his voice even though they were alone. "You heard the voices crying in the forest."

Carys felt a twisting in her stomach. "You mean…"

He nodded.

Duncan had said the dark fae lived here. And far from being bright, happy creatures of modern movies, real fae—those in the old stories—were tricky and conniving, immune to human morality, and they also hunted children. Sometimes for sport, sometimes to steal them for amusement, and sometimes to consume them as food.

Those stories didn't usually make it into the animated kids' movies.

But so much of this world… It felt familiar. Fae stealing children. Fairies granting gifts. Magic and the mundane living side by side. She'd read about this. She'd studied this.

She just never imagined she'd be living it.

"There are children who never make it out of the forest." Carys had seen the blue lights. She'd heard the cries. The broken part of her heart knew what it had been hearing.

Duncan stared at the fire. "My nanny told me that will-o'-the- wisps are the souls of lost children who weren't baptized. Maybe there's some truth in that."

It was a terrifying thought. "So Dru is fae?"

"Yes, but he left this place. He chooses to remain in the Brightlands."

"Fairies can do that?"

Duncan shrugged. "They can if they can find passage, but they rarely do. What's a fae without their magic? To live in the Brightlands, they have to be willing to give up most of their power and live surrounded by iron." He shook his head. "Hardly any are willing to do that."

"But you needed a fae to bring me here?"

"A fae. A wolf. A unicorn. Anything magic that's not human. The first time you go through the gate, you need a guide. Something native from the land. Things that live here can't enter our world unless they're guided, and mundane humans like us can't come here unless something from the Shadowlands brings them in. Once a gate knows you, it will usually let you pass—not always, they tend to have their own minds—but if you have no introduction, it will turn you out and turn you around."

"What else is here?" She stood and walked to the window, wondering about the creatures in the forest and the ones in the garden outside. What had that sound been? The bird that wasn't a bird.

"Dark and light fae obviously." Duncan sighed. "I haven't explored out of this area, but there are stories… You've seen the wisps. Nymphs in the water and sprites in the trees. Brownies take care of the houses." He motioned to the bowl of milk on the hearth. "They're quite easy to get along with as long as you respect them."

"What else?" A flash of realization hit her. "Other creatures? Magical creatures?"

He frowned. "Selkies in the ocean. Be careful for kelpies in the rivers and lochs, of course. Then there's?—"

"Dragons?" The images from her mother's paintings filled her mind. "Are there dragons? "

"Aye." Duncan slowly nodded. "In some places there are dragons."

"Where?" Her heart began to race.

The corner of his mouth turned up. He knew exactly what she was asking. "There are dragons all over the world according to what I've heard." Duncan rose and walked toward her. "But in this land—Briton as they call it here—the dragons live where you were born, Carys Morgan. The dragons live in Wales."