Brunswick Avenue was an old tree-lined street of big brick houses with bay windows, gables, and stained-glass transoms. Most had landscaped gardens and rockeries overlooked by verandahs dangling with wickerwork planters and glass wind chimes. Midway up the street stood an abandoned convent, nailed and boarded. The nuns were long gone and the school they had founded had moved elsewhere. Where the street ended was a small park with flowerbeds and rosebushes, and looming over the park was the rambling brownstone in which Dana Faolan had lived for the past year.
The house was a maze of winding stairs, dim corridors, and rooms with high ceilings. It was divided into generous flats that were leased out to professors and artists. Dana's family had the third floor with a spacious living room, wide kitchen for dining, and studies for both her father and stepmother. The master bedroom was at the front of the house. Dana's small room was at the back. Once a large balcony, it was enclosed with windows on three sides.
The glass bedroom was Dana's haven. Like an eagle's eyrie, it overlooked the treetops and the park below. The one solid wall was covered with pictures of Ireland and posters of animals, especially wolves. The floor was covered with a golden-brown rug that looked like a fall of autumn leaves. There was a cluttered bookcase, an iron bed piled with cushions, and a desk with her computer.
When Dana wasn't in her room, she could be found in the backyard. It was a gloomy place, shunned by the other tenants and overgrown with weeds and briars. Old washing lines hung limp and gray. There was a greenhouse with broken panes inhabited by a clan of stray cats. At the foot of an old apple tree was the rickety bench where Dana liked to read.
On that warm and sunny Labor Day, she found it hard to concentrate. Tomorrow she would begin high school, her first day in grade nine. The idea was terrifying. A new school. New faces. As if junior high hadn't been bad enough. She flicked through the pages of the book in her lap. It was one her aunts had given her, by their favorite author. He wrote about urban magic and fairies in North America.
I wish.
Dana's thought was bitter. There was no magic here. She leaned back against the apple tree and stared up into the branches. Her dark hair was lank on her shoulders, her face pale. Blue shadows rimmed her eyes. Under the bulky pants and sweater, she was thin and gangly. A great longing came over her and she let out a deep sigh. She couldn't have imagined being so lonesome and homesick. The past year had dragged on like an unending nightmare. Not a day passed by that she didn't miss Ireland.
She had found it impossible to settle in her new country. For one thing, she had no friends. And though she pretended she didn't care, Dana was aware of what she was missing that day. Most kids her age had gone in droves to celebrate their last day of the summer vacation at the Canadian National Exhibition. She knew from the previous year that there were carnival rides, an international food building, musical performances, and every kind of show and display. Her father had offered to take her again this year, but at thirteen you went with your peers, not your parents.
Her eyes misted with unshed tears. She fought them back.
"I'm such a loser," she muttered angrily.
The cat dozing on the bench beside her reached out to claw her arm.
"Ow!" she yelped. "Hey you!"
A big tabby, sleek and strong, he was the king of the cats who lived in the greenhouse. His golden eyes appraised her coolly.
She grinned back at him.
"You're right. Stop feeling sorry for myself."
As she tickled his ears and scratched his chin, he purred like a motor.
"It's just hard sometimes," she murmured.
There were other problems that she wouldn't admit to. A tomboy and adventurer when she was small, Dana hadn't welcomed the changes that came with getting older. She wasn't interested in clothes or makeup or boys. And from the way things had gone so far, it was obvious to her that the older you got, the more you lost. Like Peter Pan, she didn't want to grow up.
Dana heard her father calling her to come in for lunch. She ignored him at first, then the rumblings in her stomach sent her into the house.
The hallway was filled with the aromatic scents of cumin, coriander, ginger, and cloves. All had been crushed together with a mortar and pestle before going into a pan of melted butter. Lunch would be spiced dahl and rice.
When Dana reached the kitchen door, she heard her father and stepmother preparing the meal together. Though they hadn't raised their voices, it was obvious they were arguing. At the mention of her name, Dana stopped to listen.
"I am only saying it is a shame she will not wear brighter clothes. I was sad that she chose only black. And such drab things as well!"
Her stepmother, Aradhana, was referring to their shopping expedition that weekend. New clothes for the new school year.
"We should be glad she isn't into fashion," Gabriel countered, though he sounded uneasy. "It's a good thing she isn't fanatical about her looks. There's too much of that with young girls nowadays. That's how anorexia starts."
"This is true, but also not true. It is important that young people take some pride in their appearance. It is part of their self-esteem. Dana dresses to hide herself. That cannot be good."
Dana was unsettled by her stepmother's words. They were too close for comfort. She cleared her throat loudly and entered the kitchen.
The two adults went immediately silent, looking guilty. Dana avoided their eyes and sat down at the table. This threesome had first come together in Ireland where Aradhana owned an Indian restaurant with her brother, Suresh. She was a beautiful young woman, as graceful as a gazelle, with black hair that reached her waist and soft dark eyes. Sometimes she wore saris, but mostly she wore jeans. When Gabriel fell in love with her, Dana had encouraged the marriage. She knew her parents would never be reunited, and she liked Aradhana.
"All set for the big day tomorrow?" Gabriel asked with false heartiness.
Dana ignored him.
He tried again. "We'll go out for dinner to celebrate the occasion. That's a promise."
"And we all know what your promises mean," she said coldly.
Gabriel opened his mouth to retort, caught a look from his wife, and closed it again. He began to fiddle with the silver ring in his ear, then rubbed his shaved head, the two things he did whenever he was upset. In his early thirties, he was a professional musician and also taught at the university.
"Will you dish out the rice, please, Dana?" her stepmother asked.
The fluffy basmati was cooked with coconut milk. Dana's mouth watered but she wasn't to be distracted. As she emptied the rice into a large bowl and passed it around the table, she continued her attack.
"If we were in Ireland, I'd already be in secondary school," she pointed out, "with all my friends."
Gabriel sighed but kept silent.
"And you promised me if I didn't like it here, we could go home. Well, I hate it! What kind of promise-keeping is that?"
Gabriel frowned. He had to answer. "Sometimes parents break their promises. It's impossible to keep them all. You'll discover that yourself one day."
Now the argument began in earnest, continuing through their lunch, till Gabriel finally lost his temper.
"That's it!" he exploded, "I'm fed up with this. You're like a dog at a bone. Go to your room!"
"As if I have anywhere else to go!"
Dana stormed out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind her.
Aradhana stood up to clear the table and patted her husband on the shoulder. While she did her best at times to play the mediator, she couldn't intervene every time the two fought. Sooner or later father and daughter would have to make their peace.
Gabriel shook his head with chagrin. He had lost it once again. He knew his daughter was unhappy, but there was nothing he could do. He had a good job and so did Radhi, and they both loved being in Canada. In fact, except for Dana, everything in Gabriel's life was going great. Though his friends and colleagues assured him that it was natural-their teenagers hated them too-he wasn't convinced. Did it really have to be this way? He was dismayed by the loss of her affection. Once upon a time they had been so close. A little family of two. When his first wife ran away and left him to raise their toddler alone, he had taken on the task with love and enthusiasm. Dana was his princess. He was her hero. Alas, the fairy tale was not ending happily.
· · ·
In her room, Dana flung herself across the bed not knowing if she wanted to scream or cry. Miserable, she stared at her posters. The images of Ireland reminded her of everything she had lost: the little terraced house where she and Gabe had lived together, the gang of boys she played soccer on the street with, the sea-swept strand of Bray, the Wicklow Mountains.
And, as always when her unhappiness grew too hard to bear, she made her escape.
It was easy to do, as natural as breathing. Dana closed her eyes and let her thoughts drift. In the darkness behind her eyelids, the motes of light gathered. Slowly they began to dance together, weaving a vision.
A high hill of dappled grass. A shining green slope. The pale mist of morning mingles with the light spilling from the clouds. On the crown of the hill, a megalith takes shape. Two great standing stones with a capstone overhead: a dolmen, a great stone archway. Green grass, gray stone, pale mist and light. The ancient magic of Faerie. A portal to beyond.
No longer an image in her mind, it was there before her.
Dana ran up the hill toward the dolmen. Golden light issued forth to caress her face like the sun. Faint sounds of revelry echoed from within. Her heart lifted. This was what sustained her in her life of exile. Two homelands were hers, Ireland and Faerie. If she could not have one, at least she had the other. Half-human, half-fairy, this was her birthright, to walk between the worlds.
Dana had no sooner stepped through the portal than she found herself facing a great wall covered in ivy. She grinned to herself. There was often a trick or a test to undergo. The world of Faerie was like Chinese boxes-an elaborate puzzle of riddles and secrets, a maze of dimensions wrapped inside each other. She inspected the wall. It seemed to go on forever, both upward and sideways. She attempted to climb but her foot found no purchase and she immediately slipped back. She stood there, stumped. Then she heard the giggles. They came from behind the ivy. She giggled herself as she pulled at the leafage.
After a few tugs, the creepers obligingly gave way like green curtains on a stage. There in the stonework was an exquisite frieze that told a tale in multicolored mosaic.
Fado, fado. Once upon a time…
Edane, the fairy Queen of Wicklow went a-maying with her ladies. Eastward they journeyed, toward the rising sun. The land was an endless garden. Beautiful were its trees and flowers, its lakes and streams; sweet, the music of the birds on the branch and those in the clear air.
When they reached the sugared peak of Little Giltspur, in sight of the blue sea, the Queen's ladies chose a sheltered place to hold their picnic. They fashioned a bower with the mayflowers they had gathered as they went. On a cloth of white linen, they laid out seedcakes dripping with honey and crystal glasses of cool elder wine. Then they called to their mistress to join them.
Edane only laughed and waved them away as she ran down the hillside, for she was chasing two butterflies, a Holly Blue and a Clouded Yellow. Soon she had left her ladies behind, as southward she flew in pursuit of her quarry. Her red-gold hair shone like fire. She wore a gown of pale silk that swept the ground.
After a time she came to an old forest that crested a high ridge. There she heard the music. It drifted through the air toward her, high silvery notes. Head tilted on her shoulder, eyes closed, she listened. The tune was like nothing she had ever heard before, powerful and beguiling. Following the sound, she moved lithely through the trees, drawn downhill irresistibly closer.
When Edane came to a clearing, she hid behind a bramble bush. Purple berries draped her ears and throat like jewels. Peering through the greenery, she gazed at the young man who commanded the glade.
His hair was dark, falling in curls that framed his lean features. He bowed his slender body as he strained to make music, his red lips pressing against the silver flute.
The Queen was enchanted by what she heard and what she saw. The Queen was enchanted by the music and the man.
Dana smiled at the pictures, knowing the story of how her fairy mother fell in love with her human father. Alas the tale didn't end happily ever after, not only because they were mortal and immortal but because Dana's mother was already married to the King of the Mountain.
"Stop messing." Dana addressed her mother in one of the panels of the mural. "Come on, let me in."
The image burst out laughing, the wall disappeared, and there stood Edane, fiery hair wreathed in holly and ivy, eyes like blue stars.
"Welcome home, daughter," said the fairy queen in a melodious voice. "Welcome to the Fair Flowering Place where there is no grief or sorrow nor sickness or death."
"Just what I need," said Dana as they embraced.
They were more like friends than mother and daughter. Forever young and forever beautiful, Edane appeared no older than a girl of eighteen. Dana, tall at thirteen and soon to be fourteen, was quickly catching up. A fleeting concern crossed her mind. What would happen when she grew older than Edane? Dana pushed the thought away. She had come to escape her worries, not to add to them. After all, she didn't have to age either, at least not at the same rate as full mortals. Her fairy blood was strong. She could control how she looked, especially in Faerie.
Remembering that, Dana looked down at her clothing. With a single thought she transformed the baggy pants and sweater into a blue gown with a silver mantle. As she touched her head lightly, her hair was swept up with a crespine of pearls. In Faerie, she was beautiful.
Edane clapped her hands with delight.
"Come, dance with me!"
The shining kingdom was their playground. Tír Tairngire. Land of Promise. Magh Abhlach. The Plain of the Apple Trees. It was a country that revived the spirits of all who journeyed there, delighting the mind and nourishing the soul. The greensward of meadow was speckled with red poppies and bluebells. Streams overflowed with milk and honey. Sweet music chimed from the gold-leafed trees, and the "nobles of the wood," the birds of bright plumage, sang from the branches in the ever-new tongue.
What is the number of the hosts which the light of the clear sky reveals?
What are the multitudes which dwell there on the other side of the solid earth?
And the bright sun, whither does it go?
On a summer lawn, they danced a roundelay with many creatures. Wood mice and foxes, hares and hawks, ladybirds and damselflies, all footed lightly, singing and hooting and humming together. When the dancing stopped, they dined in a house of white stone with a roof of peacock feathers and a floor of spangled glass. A feast of fruits and sweet wine was served in dishes of gold and silver.
After the meal, they lounged on embroidered cushions as music wafted on the air like perfume.
Edane cupped her palms together and smiled to herself as golden light spilled out. She caught her daughter's hands.
"Do you make light?"
Dana was surprised. Truth to tell, she couldn't remember the last time she had tried.
"There's no need to here," she said defensively.
Her mother laughed and shook her head gently.
"What of the other place? You belong to two worlds. Are you not yourself in both?"
Edane flung a stream of light into the air.
"You come from a noble line, Dana. You are the daughter of a spéirbhean, a sky-woman. You belong to that tribe who herd the stars across the heavens, whose veins flow with light. We are descended from the White Lady of the Waters. That is your legacy."
The more Edane spoke, the more suspicious Dana grew. It was not like her mother to ask questions or give lectures.
"Who told you to say this?" she asked indignantly. "Has someone been spying on me?"
"We see everyone on every side and no one sees us," Edane said blithely. Then her eyes flashed with mischief and she threw up her hands. "I cannot do this! I cannot be like a human mother. I cannot tell you what to do. Remind you of your duties. Be good. Behave. It is against my nature!"
Edane burst into such wild peals of laughter that Dana couldn't help but join in. Here was another reason she loved Faerie. No one expected her to be responsible or mature. Indeed the opposite was encouraged.
Dana stayed for many days and nights. Days spent sailing in a glass-bottomed boat on warm green seas where mermaids dwelled. Nights spent sleeping in a hammock high in the treetops under stars that sang. Eventually, however, though she tried hard to ignore it, she felt the pull of the Earthworld drawing her back. No matter how much she enjoyed herself in Faerie, her human side inevitably wanted to go home. She resented the pull and yet was powerless against it. Otherwise she might never have chosen to return.
It was twilight. A hush had fallen over the sage-green fields. Dana strolled arm in arm with her mother. On the road ahead, the portal took shape. In flashes of mist and fire the great gateway rose up to span the worlds.
Edane reminded her daughter that no time had passed on the other side.
"I willed it so," she said lightly. "The order of things is ours to play with. We can open time like a fruit and spill out its seeds. For there is ordinary time and there is the Great Time of eternity. Humanity dwells in fallen time. We live in the Dreaming."
With regret and resignation, Dana hugged her mother good-bye.
"I'll be back soon."
As soon as Dana stepped through the dolmen, she was back in her bedroom on that sunny Labor Day afternoon. A pang of dread struck her.
Tomorrow she would begin her first day in high school.
