“What do you think?” Carrick asks.
“I hate it,” I reply truthfully, thinking of the natural beauty of the mountains and forests surrounding Seattle. “It looks… artificial.”
“That’s because it is.” He nods toward the castle. “The medieval architecture is appealing to Nimeyah, but she hates stone and wood. Says it’s too bland, and the queen is anything but bland. So she sort of… well, blinged everything up.”
“Sounds like you know her well,” I observe.
“I act as a liaison between the fae and the gods when needed,” he replies vaguely, then sweeps an arm out at the landscape. “As you can see, Nimeyah likes her vibrant colors, so she created this realm to suit her tastes and no other.”
I had no clue how long we were going to have to be here. It’s probably too much to hope for a quick in and out, but I decidedly don’t like Faere based on first impressions.
“Let’s go,” Carrick says, striding down the path that will lead to the castle.
We’re quiet as we walk along. I take in the interesting shrubbery and flowers, some of which I consider pretty when they’re not overdone in blinding colors or bejeweled unnaturally. The trees are varied, some with thick trunks, others thin, some with thick bark, others smooth. Some rise straight up and sprout leaves at the top, and others sprawl outward in a dozen limbs from the ground. Most of the leaves and needles are purple, but as we move further into Faere, I do spot some that are actually green with a bluish tint. I keep expecting to round a bend and spot a Lorax tree, but it doesn’t get as crazy as that.
I notice the sounds or rather, the lack thereof. A few birds warble from the trees unseen, but I don’t hear any bugs, crickets, or frogs. It could be they don’t exist, but it’s simply weird to me not to see bugs. I mean… I’m not a bug fan, but there should be some in nature, right?
Up ahead, there’s a tree that looks like it could be a mighty oak at least three feet in diameter with dark purple and cranberry-colored leaves. I feel a slight fizzy feeling and I wonder if the flora and fauna of this realm produces the same feelings as the actual Light Fae do within me.
At the base of the tree sits two little chairs made from sawed limbs that stand no more than a foot high. In the middle of the chairs is a garden gnome complete with white beard, weathered face, red pointed hat, and a pipe sticking out of the corner of its mouth.
I almost laugh at the absurdity of Faere having cheap garden statuary, but as we get closer, the damn thing’s head turns our way, and it glares at me before turning his gaze on Carrick.
“Oy. What say you, Carrick?” he asks in a distinctive brogue that sounds half Scottish and half pirate and is pitched on the high side.
Carrick nods at the little creature. “Gemba.”
“You foul our sweet Faere with a human?” he sneers, then pulls his pipe out of his mouth to spit on the ground in my direction.
I’m stunned by the antipathy, which is more disconcerting than normal as I’m still processing that garden gnomes are fae. The buzzy feeling I have isn’t from the tree but from this mean little gnome so I quickly turn it off since the feeling doesn’t reconcile with the creature.
A horrible thought strikes me. What if the ones in the earthly realm are really creepy, stalking fae who watch us humans?
I shudder at the thought, trying not to appear too offended by the less-than-warm welcome.
Carrick doesn’t defend me as a human. Instead, he merely switches subjects. “Any big goings-on at the castle today?”
“Business as usual,” the gnome replies vaguely before turning his dark eyes on me. “Say, miss… got something unique you might like.”
The gnome pulls something out of his pocket and although his little fist is closed tightly around it, I can see a bright glow of light seeping through his fingers. Interested, I take a step toward him, starting to bend for a closer look, but Carrick pulls me roughly away by the back of my shirt.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he warns in an underlying tone of exasperation that I just so willingly would be lured. “Get too close to whatever that is, and the little trickster will have you sprouting a permanent beard or some such.”
The gnome shrugs before stuffing the item back down in his pocket. “It actually would have tied her tongue in an unbreakable knot, but a beard would have been a nice trick, too.”
Clapping my hand over my mouth, I scramble back another few feet. The gnome holds his belly with one hand as he laughs hysterically at me.