DISCLAIMER: I own nothing...cuz I suck. *sigh*

The Thirteenth Rider

Ch. 9 – Miller's Mourning

The early morning sunlight glinted sharply off the cheerful, yet faded, red and blue paint of the senior's excursion bus, as it pulled up at the crossroads, the grinding and popping of the ancient motor the only sound to disturb the peaceful silence of the morning. When the bus finally came to a reluctant halt, the brakes protesting with a metallic whine, three women gingerly made their way down the rickety stairs. Pausing to wave to their peers who continued along on the dodgy bus, the three parted ways, two heading toward town while the third made her way toward the cheery yellow cottage at the edge of the village – Miller's Morning – or as it was originally called – Miller's Mourning.

Most everyone in the village knew the stories that surrounded the property and the family, many thinking them no more than just that – stories. Few knew the truth about the little cottage and the family that had inhabited the property since before the village was founded, and those few that knew worked hard to forget, lest the curse somehow affect their own families as well.

But you know what they say – those who refuse to learn from the past are doomed to repeat past mistakes.

Nana Miller had spent most of her life trying hide from the legends concerning her family and the little yellow cottage, but now as she stood near her garden gate surveying the mass of hoof and paw prints that stood out in the dirt and mud of the road, a cold shiver ran through her veins. In 67 years she had never seen any evidence of the curse that supposedly hung over her family name and the property, and in the absence of proof, it is easy to give in to the belief that the stories weren't true. Yet, in the misty light of the spring morning, no matter how much she longed for the stories to be just that, it was hard to ignore them any longer when proof was staring her in the face – the Wyld Hunt had been there. Turning to the gate, Nana Miller crossed herself, muttering a quiet prayer that the wards her own great-grandmother had put in place within and without the house, had held and kept her granddaughter safe. However, the monkshood now blooming along the garden fence and the arbor gate, it's cheerful color belying the serious warning it carried, gave her pause. The only glimpse of hope that Sarah was safe, came from the masses of white heather that seemed to be trying to strangle the monkshood from their very vines.

With a heavy heart, Nana Miller pushed the blue door of the cottage open, her mind casting back to the first time she had helped to touch up the bright blue paint. As a precocious 6-year-old, dressed in a green wool dress and gingham pinafore, she had held the bucket of paint while her grandmother painted the door – a task that always fell to the women of the family.

"But why must we paint the door blue, Gran? A cottage this pretty needs a nicer door," her younger self had insisted, frowning petulantly at the bucket of paint as her grandmother dipped the brush into it and carefully stroked more paint across the heavy wood. "White would be a better color. Like Susan Gage's house."

"Because my precious girl, blue wards away evil spirits and those who would mean harm to those who live here," answered her own grandmother, in the quietly patient voice she always used when the younger Colleen asked questions.

Nana Miller shook her head as if to dispel the memories that flooded through her as she entered the cottage she had lived in her whole life, only to frown at the disarray that met her eyes. A quick glance toward the kitchen showed cupboards open haphazardly, items having fallen over or out onto the counters, cereal, pasta and other items now poured out upon the aging wooden countertops. As she moved further into the lounge, Nana Miller saw that her favourite throw rug, the rug her husband bought for her when her first child was born, lay askew on the floor, now revealing the secret it had hidden for nearly 50 years – hoof marks gouged deeply into the wooden floor. As she walked past the downstairs bathroom, Colleen's breath caught in her throat and she stopped, her heart beating wildly in her chest at the sound of salt crunching underfoot, a jagged ring still visible around the bathtub, and the now empty salt cellar laying discarded on the floor.

"Oh God…" she whispered, a withered hand reaching out to catch hold of the doorway to steady herself. Overcome by the fear that her granddaughter had been taken, Nana Miller flinched as the eerie silence of the house was broken by the sound of bedsprings creaking overhead.

"Sarah!" she gasped, rushing toward the stairway that led to the second story of the cottage. Reaching the landing, Nana saw that Sarah's bedroom door was open, and felt the breath she had been holding rush from her lungs at the sight that greeted her – Sarah, tucked safely in her bed, the covers pulled around her ears. A single moon poppy and a sprig of white heather lay upon her pillow.

"Protection and immortal love?" she mused softly as she looked at her granddaughter peacefully sleeping. "Oh Sarah…what have you done?"

Unable to stop herself, Colleen Miller, the matriarch of the family and only surviving female of the line aside Sarah, collapsed on the foot of her granddaughter's bed and buried her head in her hands, tears of relief slipping down her wrinkled cheeks. For nearly a century, the hunt hadn't bothered the Miller family leaving many in the family thinking that they had been forgotten.

"Nana?" Sarah asked, blinking sleepily at her grandmother. Sitting up, she placed a gentle hand upon Nana's arm. "What's wrong?"

Taking a deep breath, Nana Miller looked at her beloved granddaughter, her grey-blue eyes still wet with tears, "Sarah… there are things about our family that you need to know."

~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~

For the last three hours Sarah had been sitting at the kitchen table with her grandmother, drinking coffee and listening to her grandmother's tale about the family, the Fae and the curse.

And what a tale it had been.

Settling down at the table with a cup of coffee in her hand, Sarah's grandmother opened a weathered and worn wooden chest and began to pull out pictures and papers from her ancestors. As it turned out, Sarah's strange dream when she first arrived at the cottage for the summer was more accurate than her grandmother had admitted.

"But why lie to me, Nana?" Sarah asked, her green eyes misting with hurt as she looked at the pictures spread on the table in front of her.

Nana Miller shook her head silently, a look of remorse coloring her face as she gazed out the window.

"I don't rightly know, Sarah," came the regretful reply, faded grey hair falling forward across her wrinkled face as she turned her head to look once more at Sarah. "Denial is a funny thing. I suppose I hoped that you wouldn't be affected. For so long the hunt has left us alone. It was well before my mother was born when the hunt last tormented our family."

Sighing, Sarah ran her fingers over a faded photograph of her great-great grandmother Bethan, a woman whom Sarah looked more like the older she got. "I suppose it isn't easy admitting to someone who doesn't know, that the family is cursed by the Fae."

According to the family history, the curse came about because Domhniall had knowingly built his house upon a favoured path of the Wyld Hunt, thereby incurring the ire of the hunters, although Nana suspected that it wasn't just the location of the house that made them a target, but Rhiannon herself. As it turned out, the baby in question, the one that Sarah had dreamt was taken by the hunters, was not only taken by the hunters, he wasn't Domhniall's biological son.

"In those days, to have a child out of wedlock in this area was a high crime, punishable by banishment to the outer wilds," said Nana Miller, pointing to a shaded area at the edge of a torn and faded, hand-drawn map of the area that had been created in 1783. "This map was created for Rhiannon's father three years before this all happened. You see, even at that time, the people around here were very superstitious."

Rhiannon got lost on the moors one afternoon, something that was odd enough in and of itself, as she had grown up in the area and knew the moors as well as she knew her own house. For three days she was missing, only to be found wandering the moor on the other end of the village, the day after the full moon cycle. Two months later it was discovered that she was pregnant. A week after that she and Domniall were married in a small ceremony, most of the village assuming, for better or worse, that the child was his.

"What few people knew, is that Domnhiall and Rhiannon had not been keeping company or even courting at that point," Nana Miller said, opening an antique brooch to reveal a small oil painting of Rhiannon and Domnhiall within it. "Rhiannon refused to name the father of her baby and her father, being a town elder and known for being strict, essentially bribed Domnhiall, a shop assistant in his store, into marrying her."

"How sad," muttered Sarah, peering at the pictures in the brooch.

"Not really," replied her grandmother, sliding another piece of paper from the pile. "If they had not married, she would have been driven from the village. At least this way she got to keep her family name, the family kept the property and everything went on as normal."

"Normal? The baby was taken by the hunt? How on earth is that normal, Nana?" asked Sarah, shaking her head in disbelief, then she paused, her green eyes narrowing as if deep in thought.

"Well, no one thought baby Lochlan would be a target. In those days, children were safe from the Fae unless they were wished away," Nana added, her words making Sarah cringe.

Sarah considered this silently for a moment, before raising wide eyes to her grandmother and asking, "The baby was half-Fae, wasn't he?"

She was vaguely disturbed when her grandmother nodded.

"Aye…that is what I have always thought, although no one in the family has ever said such. It was the only thing that made sense."

Pursing her lips, Sarah looked through the pictures in front of them, mulling over the parts of her family's story.

"So the Fae returned, and claimed the baby. But we don't know who of the hunt took the baby. It could have been the Seelie, the Unseelie or…." Sarah stopped, unable to bring herself to even suggest it.

"Or the Goblin King," added Nana Miller with a nod. "Aye, Sarah."

Running her hand through her hair, Sarah frowned, "But, if the baby was reclaimed, why curse the family?"

"No one knows why we were cursed or who did it," Nana Miller replied, sipping her coffee before continuing. "All we know is that from the night the hunt took Lochlan, we became a target for them. On hunt nights, the doors to the cottage would be left wide and the family would relocate to the small chapel of the old abbey, knowing they would be safe on sacred soil. No one save Lochlan was taken, although when he was in his late 30s, Domnhiall was trampled by one of their great-warhorses, having been caught out in the yard after moon-rise on a hunt night. That is when Domnhiall started adding wards to the property – like the ironwork in the arbor gate. Iron posts were driven into the doorjamb of the main doors and windows of the house."

Stirring sugar into a fresh cup of coffee, Nana Miller shook her head as she pulled an old school photo from the mess of papers and pictures on the table. With a gentle smile she slid the picture to Sarah.

"The curse seemed to target the males of the family, with five trampled by the Fae horses – granted, they were all foolish enough to be caught out after moon-rise in the first place. Though, I suspect that some may have been lured outside against their will. Two were trampled, like Domnhiall, with three more dying of their injuries – all the year they turned thirteen."

Looking at the picture of her father as a young man, dressed in his smart blue trousers and the pinstriped suit coat of his school uniform, Sarah frowned, "Is that why you sent dad away to London for school?"

"Yes. Your grandfather, God rest his soul, was a careful man. By sundown on hunt nights, he and Robert could be found safely tucked away, either in the house with wards firmly in place, or over in the church rectory. Your grand-da was a great friend of the local vicar at that time and the vicar knew the legend of the curse. Bless his heart, he helped your grand-da start research into how to keep your father safe. He was the one who commissioned the iron triskelle I hung in your room."

"Anyway," she continued, sipping her coffee as she looked through the pictures of Robert as a boy, "Your grand-da and the vicar decided that it would be best to send Robert away, so that he would not be near the hunt path and therefore would be safe. And it worked. He remained safe. Even more so when he met your mum and moved to the US. Your grand-da and I thought that would be the end of the curse. That we would live out our days here, and when we passed, he could sell the property and end things once and for all."

"And then I had to go and show up, ruining everything," Sarah muttered, her face downcast as she peered into her coffee cup, as if the murky depths held the answers she needed.

"Now, I'll have none of that sort of talk, Sarah," admonished her grandmother with a smile. "I wouldn't trade time with you for anything, and now you know what must be done now to keep yourself safe. I should have told you when you first arrived but…"

"Oh yeah…I can just see how that conversation would have gone," chuckled Sarah for the first time all morning, as she put on a false brogue to mimic her grandmother's accent, " 'Sarah Love… I hate to be the bearer of ill tidings, but our family is cursed by the Fae. So you have to avoid going out on the full moon nights or you risk being kidnapped or killed by Fae bastards.' Yup. I would've believed you – not!" she laughed quietly, with a shake of her head.

Nodding, Nana Miller smiled back at her granddaughter, "Yes, I suppose it would have gone a bit like that. It does seem rather unbelieveable, doesn't it. Besides, as long as you are indoors before moonrise, the wards placed in the cottage will keep the riders out. From what family stories say of when the hunt used to torment the family, the hunters can't enter the property so long as the wards are in place."

"Um…. Yeah. That could be a bit a problem, Nana. I found the trisk in my bedroom and gave it to Luc when he walked me home last night," admitted Sarah with a sheepish frown.

"Why would you do that, Sarah?" Nana asked with a groan of dismay.

"I don't really know, Nana," Sarah admitted with a grimace. "The whole thing is kind of fuzzy in my head. Luc walked me home. I had found out what the triskelle meant while at the library and I must have told him about it. He said that he wanted to show it to a friend of his who studies folk charms."

"We'll have to get it replaced today, since the full moon is tonight."

Sarah lightly fingered the silver triskelle now hanging around her neck as she nodded, "Yeah, I know. The Seelie Moon and tomorrow is the Unseelie Moon."

Her grandmother looked at her, the unasked question hanging in the air between them before she found the courage to voice it, "How do you know that, Sarah?"

With no other course of action left to her, Sarah had no choice but to recount the events of the previous evening – leaving out Jareth's entrance, since explaining why the Goblin King was kissing her might prove to be difficult. Having finished telling about her evening, Sarah shook her head, "I just don't see what any of this has to do with the curse. They have the baby back. What do they want with us?"

A wrinkled hand reached out, gently coming to rest atop Sarah's hand as it held the flowers, "There is more to it than that, my girl," Nana began, her grey-blue eyes seeking Sarah's, the seriousness in them making the younger girl frown in worry. "I don't think it was ever really about the baby, the baby was a means to an end for whatever Fae laid the curse upon us. It was always about the girl – Rhiannon. I think when she was lost on the moor, that she wasn't lost in this world, but found the veil through the mists and ended up in the Below."

"The Underground…." Sarah whispered, a shiver washing over her as her grandmother nodded, giving her hand a squeeze.

"Yes. Rhiannon never spoke of what transpired, but you and I have both read enough of Fae lore to make a good guess," Nana Miller said, absently stroking Oscar as he settled on the apron that covered her lap.

"She met the Fae. Who knows how long she had actually been with them when she was found," muttered Sarah, nibbling her lip in thought.

"Sarah, there is something you need to know. The curse applies partially to the property and seems to target the males of the family, but Rhiannon's female descendants are the key to lifting the curse – although the price that must be paid to do so, is too great to ask anyone to pay."

Cocking her head, Sarah looked at her grandmother, confusion etched on her face.

"When Rhiannon and Domnhiall went looking for Lochlan, they found a piece of parchment," Nana said, sliding a faded and very worn piece of parchment in front of Sarah, who went pale at the words before her.

A raven lass of emerald sight,

Will come upon the hunt at night.

Having danced within the fairy ring,

And heard immortal voices sing.

With goblin fruit, upon her lip,

Her life will henceforth will be forfeit.

Destined to bear a Fae King's wrath,

To lift the curse of the Hunter's Path.

"Since you grew up in the US, your father and I saw no reason to worry you with the prophecy, as you wouldn't be near the path. But you are here now. I should have told you earlier so you could protect yourself," Nana said with a sigh. "I'm so very sorry, Sarah. I've put you at risk, all because I couldn't bear the thought that the hunters had returned to torment our family after so long."

"It's too late, Nana," Sarah gasped, her hands shaking as she traced the elegant writing on the parchment. "The prophecy is about me….Oh Gods…he was telling the truth."

"Wha…? Who?" stammered Nana Miller, shock evident in her blue-grey eyes as she looked at her only granddaughter.

"The Goblin King," groaned Sarah, shaking her head in frustration as she fought the chilly truth that was washing over her like ice water. "He said that I belong to him. That I couldn't ever escape him."

"How does he even know you, Sarah?" cried her grandmother, rising to pace the kitchen, her hands restlessly twisting the faded floral apron she wore. "You were in the US. You should have been safe from them, like your father."

"Oh Nana," whimpered Sarah, turning to meet her grandmother's worried gaze. "I did something. Something terrible." Unable to hide what she had done any longer, Sarah told her grandmother everything – everything from the moment she wished Toby away to the goblins, up to Jareth's last words to her the previous night.

"And the last thing I remember is Jareth touching my forehead, before I woke up this morning with you sitting on my bed," said Sarah, her fingers delicately caressing the flowers that lay on the table in front of her, next to her now empty coffee cup.

"Jareth?" asked her grandmother quietly, her hand coming to rest reassuringly on Sarah's shoulder.

"That is his name," replied Sarah matter-of-factly, toying with the bright blue petals of the moon poppy. "That is the Goblin King's name. But Nana, if the wards were holding and keeping the hunters out, how could he enter the cottage?"

Squeezing Sarah's shoulder briefly, Nana Miller leaned over and picked up the moon poppy, twirling it in her fingers before placing it in Sarah's fingers.

"The answer is, quite literally, right in front of you," she said with a sad smile.

Studying the flower, Sarah frowned before suddenly dropping the flower as if it were scalding, "OH no! You can't be serious, Nana! He couldn't!"

"Ní bheidh aon dul gan grá," replied Nana Miller, her grey-blue eyes quietly looking at Sarah. "The wards are working, since the hunters were kept at bay. There is only one way he could enter the garden gate or the house."

"No…no. I refuse to believe that of the Goblin King. He couldn't. He has no feelings. It is impossible, Nana!" protested Sarah, crushing the blue flower viciously between her fingers before thrusting it down the garbage disposal and flipping it on, the grinding of metal drowning out her continued denial.

For several long minutes her grandmother gazed out the window, a thoughtful look pinching her wrinkled face. The doleful ticking of the old cuckoo clock above the sink threatened to drive Sarah crazy, before her grandmother finally spoke again.

"Deny it all you want, Sarah, it will do no good. And it would seem that based upon your adventure in the Labyrinth and beating the Goblin King, the prophecy is speaking of you. You already know the story of Diantha and what happened to her when she won back her sister. So that only raises one question – why, if you are destined to be the Goblin Queen, did the Goblin King only rescue you from the hunt last night? Why didn't he take you?"

Sarah sunk into her chair, an unsettled feeling of despair creeping into her bones. Then she remembered what Fergus Kerr had said.

"He couldn't force me to run last night because it was the first night of the cycle," Sarah murmured, her pale features looking even more pale than usual as the realization of the danger she was in took hold. "In order to take me now, I'd have to enter the hunt willingly or by accident." Turning to look at her grandmother, fear etched across her face, Sarah's voice cracked as she asked, "Nana, when is the next Fairy Moon?"

Rising, Nana Miller flipped through the calendar hanging on the wall next to the back door, her worn face lined with worry as she turned back to Sarah.

"Next month… on Beltane."

Sarah buried her head in her arms, "Beltane? I'm doomed."

In the back of her mind, Sarah could have sworn she heard laughter.

Review Responses:

Considering that nearly 50 people reviewed Ch. 9, please forgive me for not sending individual feedback (my outbox on fanfic is now full and it takes freaking FOREVER to delete them all). Thanks to everyone that has posted feedback – it really helps me get a feel for where you are at with the story and what things are having the most impact. I'm still loving hearing your theories about things and how 'into' things you are getting – even those of you who are seriously wierded-out by Jareth's father (yeah, he's not a very nice man). This new chapter has dropped a couple more potential bomb-shells on you – so I can't wait to hear what you think.

Thanks again…and please keep posting your thoughts – I love reading them. :)

Oh yeah, and for you Jareth fans out there - the next chapter should make you VERY happy! ;)