Mike Shevdon - Sixty-One Nails

"But you didn't." I kept my voice calm, trying to steady her.

"I knew it was you and I still wanted to kill you."

She was trying to explain it to herself, as if her hand had been guided by some external force.

"The important thing is, you didn't."

"I was going to."

"But I'm still here. So it's OK."

"It's not OK. It'll never be OK."

And there it was, the dead end I encountered every time I tried to reach out to her. I stood watching the traffic, unable to cross the chasm between us. I was surprised when she spoke.

"When I was little, we lived in a house in a forest."

Her voice lost its edge and softened with memory. I had no idea where this conversation was going but I left her space to think about what she wanted to say and it was a while before she spoke again.

"The house was deep into the trees. At night, sometimes, I went to sleep with the wind roaring in the canopies around the house. It was elemental, and I loved it."

There was another long pause.

"My mother used to hold me up high and whirl me around and tell me I had wings and that one day I would fly…" Her voice broke and she stopped again. She fished in a pocket, pulling out a rumpled hanky.

"She used to leave me with my father for hours sometimes. She would kiss his cheek and tell him she'd be back soon. He would smile and busy himself outside. He loved the forest and would spend hours chopping logs or mending things. I would go up to my room and play, wondering where she went.

"There was a pitched roof below my window at the back of the house and, one time, I stepped out over the sill and slid down the slates to the soft earth. I sneaked around the house and followed my mother into the forest while my father was occupied. It didn't take long to catch up with her, she was in no hurry. She followed a path though the trees to a clearing.

"I nearly cried out when I saw what came out of the forest to meet her, but she ran towards it and threw herself into its arms and he picked her up and whirled her around above his head, the way she did for me. It was the first time I saw Gramawl."

She stiffened, steeling herself against whatever was coming.

"I never heard my mother and father fight. Then one night I woke to her screaming my name up the stairway, telling me to run and hide." Her voice solidified into ice. "I didn't know what to do. I wanted to go to her, but there were sounds downstairs, strange sounds, screams, crashing, my father yelling — it sounded like they were fighting. I didn't understand."

I could hear her, steadying herself with long slow breaths.

"I went to my window and opened it wide. It was a wild night and the wind was tearing leaves from the trees in the dark. Everywhere was moving, swaying in the moonlight and I stood at the window and thought how I would slide down the pitched roof and run and find my mother's friend in the forest and tell him to come and help. But I couldn't. I was scared. It was dark and wild, and I wanted her to come and get me. I wanted her to come and tell me everything was well.

"The noises downstairs ceased, quite suddenly, and I backed into the corner of my room and made myself as small as I could. I put my hands over my eyes and peeked through my fingers. I still wanted to see, do you understand? The moonlight came into my room, dancing across the ceiling with the wildness outside. I leaned over to look outside, but the moon wasn't shining in."

Her voice had gone quiet and small.

"I tucked myself back in the corner, just as the door was thrown open, and my instinct shouted in my mind 'I'm not here! I'm too small! You can't see me!' But I was only young and there was no magic in me to answer."

She took a long slow breath.

"The figure in the doorway was darkness. He was outlined in moonlight, but he was just dark. The light in the room swam with the trees outside as he entered the room. He went to the open window and looked out into the night. I could have touched his coat, I was so close. He turned back and went to the mirror hanging over the dresser, my faerie mirror, the one my mother had bought for me because it had tiny winged figures carved into the frame all around it. He placed his hand on it and the light from his hand entered it, turning it milky and then clear as the moonlight shone through it."

She glanced sideways at me, then looked back resolutely at the road.

"He said, 'They're dead, but the girl has run off into the forest.' For a moment I thought he was talking to me and I nearly said, 'No, I'm here,' but then a voice came from the mirror, distorted and slowed down.

"It said 'Find her.' That's all. Just two words: 'Find her.' It sounded so cold, so angry.

"The figure took his hand from the mirror and the light within it faded. He turned back to the window facing me, but there was no face, just blackness. The light swelled until a nimbus formed around him and I was sure he couldn't fail to see me squeezed into the corner. Then he took a step towards me and vanished.

"The room went dark, but it was a normal dark, a welcome dark. I stayed there, curled into the corner, too terrified to close my eyes in case he came back. The wind died down and the room faded into grey and I stayed pressed into the corner, sure the figure of darkness was waiting for me to give myself away.

"As the light grew steadier, there was a noise on the stairs, a creak as something heavy shifted. Gramawl, my mother's friend, unfolded from my doorway and filled my room. He didn't make a sound, but he opened his arms and I uncurled myself and ran to him, burying myself in his embrace."

She blew her nose noisily.

"There was no point in looking for her. The Feyre stand between life and power, holding the two in equilibrium, but when they die there's nothing to hold the power back. The magic consumes their flesh and bones in a last flare of power. We buried my father in the forest, Gramawl and I. It was the only thing to do. He loved the trees."

She tucked the hanky back into her pocket and straightened her coat.

"Afterwards, I went back up to my room and smashed the mirror. I couldn't bear the thought of his hand on it, calling the moonlight. Then Gramawl took me to Kareesh and she took me in, just like that. She didn't dwell on what had happened, and I grew up in the forest with her and Gramawl as foster-parents, though she is more like a grandmother to me. She told me what I was and who I was and taught me about the Feyre. They were both there for me when no one else was."

She pushed her hair back from her face, sniffed.

"When I was older, I asked her about that night and about what had happened. I asked her why the wraithkin hadn't seen me, though I must have been plainly visible. She told me she would tell me when I came into my power and that then I would understand. So I waited.

"And when the time came, she taught me what power was and how to wield it, tutoring me in the subtleties and nuances of it. She showed me what it means to be Fey. I thought she would tell me about that night, when I had learned enough, but she never raised it. She let me take my time until I was ready to ask again."

"When I finally did, she explained it to me." She turned to face me, finally, her eyes red-rimmed, skin puffy and blotchy. "You remember when I sent you to the moors with the wolves? That's one of the gifts I inherited from my mother. That's what my mother did to the wraithkin, but she couldn't bind him to it. Without his name, he could shrug it off any time he wanted to. So she made a world for him identical to the one he was in, except I wasn't in it. He couldn't see me because, for him, I wasn't there."

"She saved you," I said quietly.

"She saved me, but to do it she had to touch…" The tears welled in her eyes again and she fumbled for the hanky. "She had to put her hand on that blackness, defenceless against what he could do. He consumed her power, sucked the life out of her and discarded her, and she stood there and deceived him while he did it so that I…" The tears ran down her cheeks unheeded, the hanky wrung between her hands. "So I…" Her shoulder shook and she turned her back to me.