He clutched the steering wheel more tightly and stared into the darkness ahead. Cramp was starting to bite into his shin, so he wriggled his toes, but dared not raise his foot from the pedal; any deceleration and they would be on him in an instant, then a fate worse than death. He half hoped, half prayed, that a truck would charge at him out of the night and end ride once and for all. That would screw them.
Except he had chosen this road precisely because he knew it would be empty. It would give him the getaway he needed with no pausing for oncoming vehicles. That was hours ago, when he thought escape was really possible.
In his arms, Lord Drake held the broken body of his wife, the colour of her wings smashed like an artist’s pallet beneath the wheels of a car, her afterglow faded to a shadow.
For a moment he closed his eyes, letting the surge of rage engulf him. It had been such a trying journey, and now this. This was impossible. After the tragedy of the exodus, to lose a wife like this was not something he had never considered.
‘My Lord.’
If he could hold this moment in his mind, then maybe he could save something of himself from the wrath to come. The stillness would be everything with nothing else.
‘My Lord Drake…’
He opened his eyes, and, just as he expected, was confronted by the drawn features of Sabian. His chief fool and advisor, for both roles were ever the same. Sabian was more Fae than any in the court and, but for the quirk of his birth, would have been high lord instead of Drake.
The fool’s almond eyes welled with tears, but his sense of decorum seemed to be holding back the flood of emotion behind them.
‘My Lord…’ Sabian began again, trying to make his meaning explicit, ‘This cannot go unpunished. The court is watching.’
Charlie Mason had started the day casually, like any other. Made a couple of deliveries to the girls in town. Stopped to chat, just shoot the breeze, not really making a move on them, just being friendly like. He’d let them sign for the packages and then stopped for a coffee with one, read the movie reviews with the other. No rush. His schedule was light for that day.
Down at the coffee house, little Suzy was real happy to see him. He guessed the package was some good news from the city, but he never questioned them about what was hidden in the wrapping. Questions weren’t company policy and he knew that if he kept his mouth shut, then nine times out of ten they would just tell him anyway. People seemed to think he had a right to know what he was delivering, and he wasn’t going to prevent them cleaning their consciences. He guessed that priests must feel this way in the confessional. That’s how the town saw him, as the master confessor in a brown uniform.
Sure, as he guessed, little Suzy’s divorce was legal and she’d sold the apartment. Good for her. Maybe now was the time to make his move, but no rush. He had all the time in the world.
The other packages had been much the same as always. Legal stuff, some care parcels from friends abroad, internet shopping, magazines. Nothing sacred. Nothing to make the day stand out as the worst of his life.
When they crossed the water it had been the greatest risk that any of the Seelie Court had ever taken. Some regarded it as the greatest folly too, but none had ever shared this with him personally. No one dared. To call Lord Drake a coward would have invited his rage upon them; to praise him would have been worse. He despised sycophants more than rebels.
Naturally, their home could have been defended. Stories could weave fear into the hearts of men so that all their machines stopped. No developer, no matter how avaricious, could stand against myth. They could have made a stand and held back the wave of people encroaching on the court, but nothing was eternal, not even the Fae, and any confrontation would simply have raised awareness rather than allowed them to hide in the shadows of legend and infant dreams. Eventually everything could be lost in a war with humanity because the Seelie had rules to bind them and men did not.
Thus Drake had made the decision that had been tempting, plaguing, his dreams for years. He ordered them to abandon their home.
Bob’s books were still wrapped in the corporate packaging, sitting on the passenger seat. Bob had been expecting them all week, so Charlie had saved the best to last. He wanted to let the guy sweat a little, and then, just when he thought the day was through, then the delivery would arrive and he’d be all thanks and gratitude. Charlie might have been able to get a free diner out of it. Nice end to the day.
That had been his downfall. Greed for a free meal in a diner on the edge of town.
‘Idiot!’ He exclaimed to himself. He would have ripped his hands from the steering wheel and smashed it too, but he dared not remove them from the ten-to-two position. He needed all the control he could maintain.
Into the night the road lay black either side of the central line. He couldn’t see the verge, or the brush stretching out beyond. Just the few yards lit up before him and then the all-consuming void.
They had no possessions of importance, for everything tied them to the landscape and the whole venture was to break their ties. While dissension might be whispered, no one would question his command. It was the Seelie strength. Once it was decreed, the whole court upped and left, heading west towards the setting sun, across the water through the dark to a different land. A place where they did not exist even as myth, completely out of the awareness of man.
Touching the new land had meant nothing to him. They crossed earth and water as one, so there was no reason to stop at the coast. In fact something of this land disturbed Drake, made him keep heading inland, for it was no different to the old one. The people spoke the same language, looked much the same and lived in the same way. Worse, there seemed to be more of them.
Only the land was different. Wider. Surely there would be some isolated corner where the court could rest unseen. Somewhere virtually deserted.
Drake was pleased with the comic irony, on finding that the most deserted place was an actual desert.
Bob’s Diner lay on the crossroads at the edge of town. Perfect for a last minute stop before the expanse of the desert beckoned. Bob’s granddaddy must have been a canny old bird to chose that spot. Great for passing trade, yet still close enough to town for the breakfast crew. While it didn’t make him a millionaire, it was a steady income for not much work. A guy could live comfortably there and have nothing much to worry him.
Complacency was Charlie’s enemy too. He’d not realised the time, had failed to acknowledge the twilight casting long shadows across the scrubland. Even the sunset seemed out to get him, being nothing but a splatter of magenta on the horizon, not enough to make a local boy blink.
So he hadn’t seen them on the road. Of course there was no bump, not like when he hit that fox a few years back. There was no scream, no blood. Just the empty road ahead of him. The setting sun. But there, in the rear-view mirror, just for a second, he caught the glimpse of light in the road behind him. It could have been light reflecting off an old tin can, although Charlie knew better.
Trading with children was the most moral approach to living with people. Children were secretive, sly and able to accept ideas beyond their ken. They were much more like the Fae than men.
On finding a place to live, Drake needed to set up trade. The spirits of the land were far too alien to communicate with, but the children were much the same as those back home. Some even read the same books, innocent versions of their own tales.
The youngest ones played near them and never thought to question who they were. Some wanted actual favours. A little fun, a little laughter, a friend. It was the trade that was mutually acceptable. Emotional exchange. That was what they needed to bond the Court to this new land, emotional ties. Not food and wealth, both were irrelevant. Sentiment was what they needed, and the children give it freely.
The babies grew, and many left with their childhood stories intact. Some remained though. Those with a lifetime to trade. The bargain with the Fae was very simple: a lifetime of respect for a lifetime of Fae assisted peace. It was irresistible.
When he stared into the mirror directly there was nothing to be seen, yet when he looked straight ahead, there, on the periphery of his vision, was the tell tale spark of light. It was more empathy than sight, but he could still see it. First the usual blue-white spark that he sometimes saw as a kid, but then, quite remorselessly, the colour changed, flared into a burning crimson fury. It was the colour of an anger so intense that Charlie instinctively put his foot down on the accelerator to escape, which seemed only to enrage the spark more. It made it rise, burn with a fury and then it was no longer receding into the distance, but gaining on him.
Charlie’s foot was almost flat to the floor now. He’d flashed past Bob’s Diner without even looking to see if Bob was home, and then he took off on the road out of town. Heading east into the desert where he hoped to put space between himself and the lights in the mirror.
Drake slowly straightened his back, holding his broken wife in the crook of his arms, his wings raising him slightly off the earth so he seemed imposingly taller. ‘How could such a thing happen, fool?’ He had meant for the question to be a desperate plea, but Sabian naturally mistook it as a formal enquiry.
‘A nail perhaps.’ Lord Drake looked at him blankly. ‘Iron. Something lodged in the tyre as it passed.’ He looked at the body assuming the role of detective. ‘Her wings are torn by something not man made my Lord.’ Only pure metals could damage them, they both knew it, everything else was as water or air, simply a medium to pass through with varied resistance. The ocean had been of no consequence, there was no distinction between land and sea, both were solid enough to bear their weight. But iron, that was different. It could tear their bodies to shreds.
‘One more thing…’ Sabian knew he did not need to finish the thought, for Lord Drake would do it for him.
‘…the man is Charles Mason. A Fae kindred.’ Then Sabian added, almost in a whisper, ‘He is already in our debt my Lord.’
At that, Drake nodded his acknowledgement. He could already feel his afterglow burning, clearly on display for the whole Seelie court to see, vibrant as the blood of men. It was a symbol for the entire Court.
‘Charles Mason is no innocent,’ lord Drake declared, ‘He is Fae game.’
He watched the road ahead now. Almost five hours had passed. The gas was nearing empty. He’d had no reason to fill up before leaving town, so something was bound to splutter and break sooner or later.
There, in the mirror, were the lights. Not the calming blue white of his childhood, nothing delicate and mild now. The lights burned a violent red, like a precursor to what they would do to him. Constantly at the same distance. Waiting for him to weaken before them came in to meet their vengeance. The mechanics of his ride would die well before he did.
Yán Engels 
The first fae story. Started as a demonstration of new weird but then wrote itself.
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