Mam heaped our plates with potatoes and carrots and roast chicken. Steam rose, and the aroma made my stomach growl. It had been a long time since I’d eaten a meal served at a table on plates with knives and forks.

  Quietly I stopped Guest from eating with his fingers and showed him how to use a knife and fork.

  When Thomas saw his plate, he broke his promise not to speak. “If I eat your food, will I be forced to live with you forever?”

  “We don’t abide by Kinde Folke laws,” Mam said.

  “How am I to trust you?”

  Dadoe shrugged. “We are what we seem. We say what we mean. We don’t lie.”

  Thomas looked doubtful, but he ate one or two mouthfuls of vegetables and looked at the chicken with disgust. “This is peasant food,” he muttered. “I cannot eat it.”

  “Please try a bite of chicken, Thomas,” Mam begged. “You must be hungry.”

  Without answering, he pushed his plate aside and returned to the bench.

  Guest gobbled up everything on his plate and asked for more. The rest of us ate silently, chewing and swallowing without really tasting the food. Thomas was a dark presence in the cottage, ruining everything.

  When night came, I took Guest up to the loft where I slept. Mam and Dadoe got into their bed and pulled the curtains shut around it. Thomas slept on his bench.

  The next day and the next and the ones after that went by in much the same way. Thomas sulked, ate little, and said nothing.

  * * *

  One cool, cloudy morning, we sat in the kitchen enjoying the fire’s warmth. Fall had come, and winter would soon follow. Dadoe had left at sunrise to go hunting with other men from the village. He’d promised to be home with a deer before sundown.

  Mam was busy knitting wool sweaters for Guest and Thomas. I was darning holes in my stockings, and Guest was playing with the marbles Dadoe had given him. Thomas lay on his bench staring into the fire.

  Save for the fire’s hiss and murmur, the kitchen was quiet. Perhaps that was why we heard soft voices in the lane near the cottage. Mam went to a window and looked out. “Beggars,” she said. “There are more than usual this year.”

  Giving me a half loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese, she said, “Take this to them. The poor souls look like they’re starving.”

  With Guest behind me, I ran to open the garden gate. Two women stood in the lane. The younger one held the older one’s arm as if to help her walk. Although the day was not overly cold, they huddled together, their long cloaks drawn tight against the wind.

  When they saw me, they made as if to move on, but I told them they were welcome. “I have food for you. If you wish, you may come inside and eat by the fire.”

  Guest tugged at my skirt. He shook his head, clearly uneasy.

  If he was warning me, he’d waited too long, for the older woman had already thanked me. “We’ve traveled a long, hard road. A seat by a fire would be a great comfort.”

  Hoping to see what Guest saw, I looked into the woman’s face, but her hood cast a dark shadow that hid her features.

  “Thank you,” the young one said. “My mother is weary of travel. We’ll rest by the fire a bit and soon be on our way.”

  I led them inside, but Guest lagged behind the strangers as if he dared not get too close to them. “Don’t trust them,” he whispered to me. “They smells like smoke and dark.”

  “You’re so silly, Guest. They’re beggars, that’s all. They travel the roads and cook over fires like we once did.” But I, too, noticed something strange about the two—​nothing fearsome, just strange.

  Mam looked up from her knitting. “Please, come in and take a seat by the fire. I’ll make a pot of tea to warm you.”

  Thomas roused himself from a nap to stare at the women.

  Guest lingered in the doorway. I beckoned to him, but he stayed where he was.

  The women ate the bread and cheese silently. Their presence made a strangeness in the cottage. Shadows seemed deeper, the air colder, the room less cheerful.

  “Well,” Mam said in an effort to break the silence. “Where do you come from?”

  The woman sighed, and the girl answered in a low voice. “From a distant place to which we can never return.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Mam said. “It must be terrible beyond words to lose your home. So many have been on the road lately.”

  “Yes,” the woman said. “Far more than usual, I think.”

  Mam refilled their cups with hot tea. “Where are you bound?”

  The girl shrugged. “We go where the wind blows us.”

  Thomas leaned forward, his eyes catching the firelight. “In your travels, have you by chance seen the Kinde Folke?”

  Startled to hear him speak, I looked at him.

  The girl glanced at him. “What do you know of the Kinde Folke, boy?”

  “I’m one of them,” he said proudly. “A prince. My name is Tiarnach. Perhaps someone asked about me.”

  “Tiarnach,” the woman repeated. “No, we’ve not met anyone who asked about you or your whereabouts.”

  The girl rose from her seat. “You’re tired, Mother. Rest by the fire.” Turning to me, she said, “Perhaps you and I might walk in the garden. I feel a need for fresh air.”

  Outside, the girl looked at me closely. “Do you not remember me, Mollie Cloverall?”

  Suddenly fearful, I edged away from her. “Should I?”

  Her cloak swirled in the wind. Its fabric had less substance than the shadow of a moth’s wing.

  She drew back her hood and said, “I am much changed, but surely you’ve not forgotten me.”

  Aislinn’s face had grown thin. Her eyes were darkly shadowed, her skin as pale as the moon, her thick mass of hair snarled with tangles, but she hadn’t lost her beauty.

  “Aislinn,” I whispered. “What brings you here?”

  “Your brother needs our help. Madog believes we can restore Tiarnach to himself.”

  “Where is Madog? Is he nearby?”

  “When we last saw him, he was on his way to the North Kingdom to do business with a tribe of Kinde Folke there.”

  “Did he say anything about returning to Lower Hexham?”

  “Maybe this year in the spring, or next year in the winter. Maybe tomorrow, maybe next month. With Madog, who can say where he’ll go, or when? He’s a traveler, Mollie, as you well know.”

  I was not surprised. The ribbons he’d given me would most likely be old and faded when I saw him again.

  “Now,” Aislinn said, “tell me about Tiarnach. It seems he hasn’t yet given up the idea he’s a prince.”

  “Not at all. He’s been with us almost three months, but he still hates our ways. He says little but longs to return to the Dark Lands, where he believes he will be king.”

  “Surely he knows there are no Dark Lands now.”

  “I’ve told him many times, but he insists I kidnapped him from the Kinde Folke and stole from him all that is precious. He truly believes you will rescue him from a miserable existence.”

  “Alas, our existence is far more miserable than his. He’s fortunate to be here with you and his true parents.”

  “If you tell him the truth, perhaps he’ll believe it.”

  Aislinn fidgeted with the ragged edge of her cloak. “Bring him to me. I cannot promise to change him, but I’ll talk to him.”

  In the cottage, Mam and Duatha spoke in low voices. Thomas sat on his bench and watched them. If he recognized Duatha, he showed no sign of it.

  I touched Mam’s shoulder. “May I take Thomas outside for a moment?”

  “Of course.”

  Thomas shifted his eyes to me. “Is the other one in the garden?”

  “Yes. She has something important to tell you.”

  “Did she see the Kinde Folke after all? Will she take me to them?” His body trembled with excitement. When he stood up, his legs shook.

  For the first time since I’d seen him in the stone circle, I pitied my brother. What he longed for was forever denied him. Somehow he had to content himself with Mam and Dadoe and me.

  With Guest close behind, I led Thomas outside. Aislinn rose from the bench and walked toward him.

  He stopped a few feet away from her. “Did you see them? Do they seek me?”

  “Tiarnach,” she said. “Do you not know me?”

  When she took his hands in hers, he stepped back, appearing confused and frightened. “What’s happened to you? You’re not the Aislinn I know—​you’re pale and weak and older than I thought. You must be an impostor.”

  Aislinn tightened her grip on his hands and held him firm. “Tiarnach, I am Aislinn, not an impostor. I have come to tell you the truth. You must believe me.”

  “I will not believe a word you say. You are a liar sent here to deceive me.”

  Thomas struggled to break away, but Aislinn was stronger than he was.

  “Stop fighting me,” she said. “The Dark Lands are lost to us. Our palace is in ruins—​there’s no dancing, no music, no feasting.”

  “That cannot be true,” Thomas wailed.

  “I am not a liar,” Aislinn insisted, her face fierce with anger. “Why do you think my mother and I are here, dressed in rags, with no home? We are beggars, now, even the queen, doomed to wander the earth, lost and afraid, until we die.”

  “No, no, no.” Thomas began to cry. “I hate you, Aislinn!”

  With Mam at her side, Duatha joined us. “You must believe my daughter, Tiarnach. When we lost you, we had no tithe to pay Cernunnos. To punish us, he destroyed all we had, even our magic. We live now as the poorest of mortals. If you return to us, you’ll be a beggar, not a king.”

  “We deceived you,” Aislinn said. “We stole you from your parents for one purpose—​to give you to Cernunnos as his tithe. To sacrifice you. Everything we told you then was a lie, but we are not lying to you now.”

  Duatha looked long and hard at Thomas. “We were a cruel people. We did not deserve to be called Kinde. I hope you have not become as heartless as we were.”

  She took his hand and put it into mine. “Be grateful to your sister. You owe your life to her. Believe me, most who are taken to the Dark Lands are not as fortunate as you.”

  Thomas’s body shook with sobs. “I believed all you told me. I was to marry Aislinn, I was to be king.”

  Duatha sighed. “We have always put our own kind first, but now that we live as mortals and suffer as you do, our hearts have softened. That’s why we’re here. We’ve come to undo the harm done to you.”

  Aislinn took my brother’s hands in hers. “You are Thomas now. You must learn to live as mortals live, for you are one of them. It will be hard, but you have Mollie and Guest to help you. You have a mother and father who truly love you and will never let you come to harm.”

  She released him, but he reached out to her. “Let me come with you. Let me live the life you live, no matter what it is.”

  Duatha pulled him gently away from Aislinn. “No, Thomas, you must stay here. Your time with us is over.”

  As Aislinn turned to Mam to say goodbye, Duatha took me aside.

  “Some of us have learned to be merciful,” she said. “Others roam the world seeking revenge. Be vigilant, Mollie. You have enemies among the Kinde Ones even now.”

  The wind blew colder, and dead leaves rattled down the lane as if they meant to harm us. Guest gripped my hand. A shiver ran through his small body.

  Aislinn and Duatha drew their cloaks around themselves and made their way toward Cat Tail Hill. If I hadn’t known better, I would have mistaken them for two beggar women.

  Mam now stood in the cottage doorway as if she were waiting for Thomas to come to her. With his back turned to all of us, he watched Aislinn and Duatha trudge up Cat Tail Hill.

  The way he stood there, all alone, his shoulders hunched against the wind, made me uneasy. If Thomas didn’t believe what he’d been told, if he still longed to be with the Kinde Folke, he’d never accept his place in our world.

  Weary beyond words, I sank down on the garden bench. Guest sat beside me and reached for my hand. I clasped his tightly, sure now that I’d failed to fix anything by bringing Thomas home. After Aislinn and Duatha disappeared over the top of the hill, Thomas remained by the road, his head bowed in grief. Slowly he turned and looked at Guest and me, almost as if he’d never really seen us before. Without speaking, he walked to the bench and took a seat on my other side.

  Cautiously I touched his cold fingers. Instead of yanking his hand away, as I’d expected, he leaned his head against my shoulder and sighed. The three of us sat together in silence.

  The wind rose and the trees pelted us with sharp-edged red leaves. Towering gray clouds in the shape of monstrous creatures drifted along the horizon like armies marching to war.

  Over our heads, a rook cawed and another answered. One dipped down and brushed my cheek with the tip of its wing. Together the rooks flew toward Mirkwood. Their harsh cries sounded like laughter.

  Afterword

  * * *

  Although I’ve always loved folklore and fairy tales, I doubt I would have written Guest if I’d never gone to Ireland.

  I took a hiking trip to Ireland a few years ago and spent several days walking in ancient forests of great beauty and mystery—a magical landscape, straight out of fairy tales I’d read as a child. The light was dim and sometimes misty. Moisture hung in the air. My fellow hikers and I found ourselves speaking quietly as if we were afraid to disturb the silence of those ancient woods.

  High on a hilltop, we came upon a stone circle, tilted by time but still standing. For over a thousand years the tall stones had stood here, bearing witness to the forgotten people who erected them. Below was a dark lake into which a waterfall cascaded from a cliff. Above was a sky of gray clouds blown to tatters by the wind. No houses in sight, no farms . . . a landscape unchanged since those stones were raised.

  In that lonely place, I found the setting for a new book. My story was influenced by the ancient ballad “Tam Lin,” which can be found in books of Celtic folklore. Although there are many variants, the story centers on a young woman who rescues a young man held prisoner by the queen of the Sidhe. To save Tam Lin from being tithed to the dark lord, Janet hides in the forest and waits until the queen and her attendants appear. She pulls Tam Lin from his white horse and manages to hold him as he changes shape, assuming the form of savage beasts and poisonous snakes. The defeated queen frees Tam Lin, and he and Janet flee from the forest.

  The Sidhe were often called the Kinde Folke, in the hope they would be kind. Although the Sidhe are fairies, they do not live in flowers and fly about on dainty wings. They are a different breed altogether, tall and powerful, feared for their cruelty and trickery. They live underground in glittering palaces located outside of human time and space. Renowned for their bewitching music and dancing, they sometimes lure mortals to join them for a night of festivity. When the mortals awake, they discover they’ve been gone for a hundred years instead of one night.

  Belief in changelings was common in Ireland centuries ago. It was thought that fairies gave birth to sickly babies, who were often swapped for healthy human babies. When parents discovered that their baby had been replaced by a changeling, their first impulse was to leave it the forest or at a crossroads where it would most likely die. In my story, Agnes Cloverall is persuaded to keep her changeling in the hope that the Kinde Folke will take him back and return her own baby.

  The Pooka that Mollie encounters—a beautiful black stallion who dwells in lonely places and is capable of changing his shape—is straight from Irish tales. At times helpful to humans, he can be destructive and dangerous. He appears in many cultures and is believed to be a nature spirit.

  Cernunnos is a horned god found in the mythology of the British Isles and Western Europe. Despite his antlers, he is not the devil but a nature spirit like the Pooka. He lives in forests and protects wildlife, but like the Sidhe and the Pooka, he has a dark and dangerous side. I have taken the liberty of making him the ruler of the Kinde Folke.

  The next time you are in the woods, walk softly and speak quietly. Be alert to rustlings and scurrying in the underbrush. Take note of sudden flurries in the leaves at the tops of trees. Be aware of long-eared rabbits hiding in the ferns and sharp-eyed birds perched on branches. You never know how near the Kinde Folke may be, gliding silently through the woods in their cloaks of invisibility.

  Should you meet such a one, do not believe a word she says. Accept no gifts. Be polite, but hurry on your way and do not look back.

  1

  The Girl

  The girl is alone in the locked room. At first, she writes the day of the week, the month, and the year on a wall. She means to keep a record of her time in the room, but after a while she begins skipping a day or several days. Soon, days, months, and years become a meaningless jumble. She forgets her birthday. And then her name.

  But what does it matter? No one comes to visit, no one asks her name, no one asks how old she is.

  At first, the room seems large, but soon it shrinks—​or seems to. It becomes a prison. The key disappeared long ago. No matter—​she’s afraid to leave. They’re waiting for her to open the door. She feels their presence, faint in the daytime but solid and loud at night. Their boots storm up the steps. They hammer on the door. They yell for her to come out.

  But how can she? The door is locked from the outside. Even if she wanted to, she could not obey their commands. She huddles in the shadows, her eyes closed, her fingers in her ears, and waits for them to leave.

  The trouble is, they always come back. Not every night, but often enough that she always waits to hear their horses gallop toward the house, to hear their boots on the stairs, to hear their fists on her door.

  She used to know who they were and why they came, but now she knows only that they are bad men who will hurt her if they find her. They say they won’t, but she doesn’t believe them.