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CHAPTER TWO - NOONWRAITH
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The gnome, in its very forced compliance, took Landon down a whole lot of alleyways and side streets until they came upon an abandoned plot of land, full of dead grasses and discarded cans. Landon grimaced, kicking aside a can as soon as he crawled off of Doom, setting the gnome down on a patch of dead grass. Doom took a moment to look around the brightly lit field before huffing and vanishing down a dark alley, while the gnome scurried as far away as it could, running around the field with rushed movements and definite panic.
"Yer very lucky, Cánach," the gnome babbled, "Sun's just about ta hit noon. Lady Midday don't appear any other time."
"I caught that from the name." Landon said dryly. He was sixteen, not an idiot. He'd also studied potential creatures he could possibly encounter rather extensively, since his dad had been less than useful about pretty much anything related to mythologies, and his step-mother was a little too worried about traumatizing Landon's little siblings with the True Stories.
"Oh did you, now?"
Landon's heart nearly stopped. Hell, but he'd never actually met a demon before. And the noonwraith was definitely a demon. There was no shortage of stories about her hacking lazy workers to death with her scythe, or inflicting heat stroke, or generally terrorizing fields.
"Yes!" Landon squeaked, voice cracking in the middle, refusing to turn around to face the noonwraith. He retried, "Yeah," he said, deepening his voice as much as he could while half-terrified.
The noonwraith huffed out a light laugh, and stalked around the frozen fae with measured steps. The thing most immediately obvious to Landon was the great big fucking scythe she had propped over one shoulder, resting on skin half rotted away by the sun. Her bony frame was covered in a long once white dress, long since stained by dirt and blood, and her face had half of the skin sheared off, skull easily visible beneath. The cleanest part of her — the only clean part of her — was her long golden hair, just about the color of a field of wheat.
She was beautiful… in a horrifying sort of way. She reminded Landon a bit of the lady from the Corpse Bride, half-rotted but still somehow pretty. Landon watched in frozen terror as she grabbed her scythe, picked it up — I can't move i can't move is this what I do to people — and stood it next to her, leaning against it comfortably.
"Lady Midday." Landon said dumbly, title half garbled. The fuck do you say to a demon you terrorized the minion of to find without any good purpose behind— "Lady Midday, I was wondering if — since you know everything — could you maybe—" Landon stopped, refocused, and ignored the way the noonwraith's half-scorched eyebrow raised.
"I need to find the trows that are hunting people." Landon articulated slowly, tucking his hands behind his back and squeezing his wrist to center himself. "They have the potential to be a threat to my family, and the greater attention they're bringing to the area will likely attract demigods and hunters, and as a result they're putting us all at risk."
The noonwraith hummed, "Straight to the point, are you?" she wondered, stalking closer to Landon and pausing only a few feet from his face, scythe gripped loosely in one hand. "Is that a trait of the fae folk?"
"I wouldn't know, I'm not folk." Landon replied automatically, the phrases burned into his memory. The admittance made the Lady Midday grin, a ghastly thing that pulled some flesh away, leaving it hanging off her cheek in a gray, brown, and red mess.
"Another of us here, then." the Lady Midday said softly. "And you are asking me for help doing your duty? At least someone here knows how to work." She eyed the gnome with mild disapproval, and it squeaked again in terror and ran off.
"I only know the barest thing about the trolls' activities," the Lady Midday continued, ignoring Landon's muffled correction of 'Trows,' "They're not not-folk, as you well know. Oh, we really better come up with a better name for them. I can hardly go about calling them monsters, not when we've our own collection of trolls."
"'Folk,'" Landon suggested drily, to the noonwraith's chilling giggle.
"That would be just a little bit confusing," the Lady Midday said lightly. "You might be well off asking the not-folk trolls for help, dear gean-cánach. They know the way of the underground here much better than I, although I know all else that happens above."
"Are there guid folk or peeries here then too?" Landon wondered. The guid folk were mostly metalworkers and healers, the calmest trows there were, and the peerie trows were as small as pixies, living under mushroom caps and weaving tiny garlands and baskets. They weren't trows that tended to interact with kunal, the kind that stole away human women to be wives, or like the sea trows who were unpredictable at best and ate babies at worst.
"Why of course, dear gean-cánach. Have you not been here long? They tend to bring gifts to welcome new not-folk." the noonwraith asked curiously. Landon started to shake his head before pausing. His dad had shown up one day with baked goods and a giant home cooked meal, as well as with a lot of small trinkets— an intricate metal bird, a glass bottle with its own flowering ecosystem, a blown glass phoenix, a tiny violet lantern, and a hand carved drinking horn.
"They must have spoken to my father." Landon said after a moment, frowning, "Given we moved here half a year ago."
"Does he know our custom?" the noonwraith asked, "There were some very bothered not-folk, fussing about how their gifts weren't accepted and worrying about offense."
"Oh, hell." Landon groaned, "No, his mom's fae, but it didn't pick up all that much in him. I'm surprised Heidi didn't say anything, though, she's a full-blooded selkie. Great, more damage control for me to do, and I never even learned fae custom!"
The noonwraith laughed, "Ah, but that isn't what you're here for." she glanced at the sun, measuring its movement. She started to flicker, lowering sun leaving her translucent and not-all-there. "Rock — the gnome — will be able to take you to the trow, given he lives with them. And don't forget your manners!"
"Thank you, Lady Midday," Landon said politely, half bowing at the waist, and waiting for the miserable gnome to trudge his way towards him. "Well then, Rock." the gnome grumbled at the use of its name, crossing its arms from where it stood near Landon's feet.
"I'll take ya, ya pointy-eared blighter, but I won't do it on that barghest of yours." Rock declared, looking as mutinous as his small pudgy form could allow. "You got a bus pass? We gotta get to Russell Street."
"Yep." Landon said easily, "You need to hide in a coat or something?"
Rock huffed, insulted. "I'm a damn good enough gnome to disguise meself, Cánach. Yer the one who needs a pass."
"Just checking." Landon replied. It made for a very uncomfortable bus ride, the gnome spending the whole time glowering at Landon's leg, muttering in a language Landon hadn't ever heard before. The one good thing was that Rock looked like he wanted Landon gone as fast as possible, so maybe Landon wouldn't end up being introduced to literally everyone who'd ever lived with or near the trow…
Landon ended up being introduced to literally everyone who'd ever lived with or near the trow.
Apparently, the trow (and fourteen gnomes, dozens of pixies, two leprechaun, two brownies, one púca, one alseid nymph, and three whole dryads) were living in a fae space on the Bates College campus, close a hockey rink, aptly named the Underhill Arena. Landon had somehow forgotten how much names appealed to fae. He probably could have found them by searching up 'underhill' and wandering around until he came across the great big glowing door, carved into a tree and going straight to fae space.
"Oh lookit you, so big an' tall!" one of the other gnomes complained, as soon as the introductions stopped. "Look at this big fae, all hoity toity. We was doin' great without you here!"
"I'm not here to undermine your home," Landon said stiffly, glancing over at the lurking trow. They looked just as wary as he felt. "There are trow out there taking children and expecting mothers. My family happens to be made of three children and an expecting mother."
From the back, one of the guid folk trows stood and lumbered toward him. She was wearing jeans and boots and a loose shirt under a blacksmith's apron, all sized looking like they'd been custom made, rather than just taken out of the kid's section at a store. She was barely four feet tall, with customary gray skin, full of wrinkles and warts, and she limped with each step.
"C'mere, boy," she demanded, beckoning for Landon to follow with gnarled hands. He did. "I kin take ya to them. I told 'em, 'Don't be foolin' around! It'll get ya caught, and ye'll deserve it.' But do they listen? No sirree. 'Cause I'm just guid folk, and they're kunal and sea. But you alreddy knew that, didn't ya, boy?"
"Yes ma'am." He said politely. They stepped out of the fae space to somewhere — it smelled like trees and somewhat stale water. Near the lake, then. They were mostly shrouded by trees, the one they came through glowing the soft light of fae gates.
"And how'd ye know that?" the guid folk asked.
"It looked obvious. Two expecting mothers taken —probably kunal trow— and three children —probably sea trow. I don't mean to be rude, ma'am, but it felt obvious."
"There are a lotta other folk who take children 'n' ma's," the trow pointed out.
"I… you're right. But, I'm right too, aren't I?"
"Ye are indeed." the trow said. "Now, boy, are ye prepared to face off sum trow?"
She took one look at Landon's panicked face and cackled, lumbering deeper into the wood. Landon took a moment to measure the worth of his life before shrugging and following, staying carefully behind the trow —a difficult task given how slow they tended to walk. But Landon would rather walk slowly than get killed.
"Oi!" The guid folk shouted, gesturing for Landon to remain half-cloaked in the shadows of the trees. "C'mere, ye bastards!"
Landon pulled carefully on his Nature and pulled up the shroud of mist he usually went without, hearing (or rather not hearing) the birds go quiet. It made him barely visible in the shade of the tree, and Landon looked out with cold eyes as the three trow walked sullenly into the clearing. They were trow, all right. Short, stubby and gray, with messes of warts and blemishes covering their skin, and blood dripping from their mouths down their fronts.
Landon scowled, letting his mist thicken in the small clearing. The guid folk didn't look any more happy, hands resting on her hips and tapping one foot slowly on the ground. She looked like Heidi did, when Eveline or Peter broke a rule — a disapproving mother. The trow looked like scolded children, too, feet scuffing at the ground and looking at the ground, or trees, or anything except the guid folk. One of them was looking towards where Landon was standing. With a bit of malice, Landon took one slow step forward, moving his mist ever so slightly, and putting on his best manic grin.
The sea trow squeaked out a horrified little sound, and burst into tears, covering its face with its hands and only managing to smear the blood more, but it didn't run. Just sobbed. The kunal trow were shifting uncomfortably, but they didn't leave either, just looked terribly dejected and guilty.
"Ye wanna know how irresponsible ye've been?" the guid folk snarled, "Ye've been so irresponsible that ye've called big folk out ta play. When a gean-cánach comes a-knockin' at our lil' fae gate, it means ye've made a big mistake. Ye hear me?"
"Yes, matron," the three trows muttered.
"Now, are any of the people ye took alive?"
The trows were silent for a very long moment, the two kunal trows shaking their heads after a moment. "Yes'm," the sea trow sniffled after a moment, "two of the kiddies I took, please matron I just… I had to!"
The guid folk narrowed her eyes, "You know very well tha's not true, brat. We've learned long ago tha it's possible ta resist. Now. You boys," she pointed at the kunal trows, "are gone. Ya hear me? I don't want ta see ye, or hear about ye, ever again. If tha mean's I hear rumor in a year's time about a nasty little kunal takin' women, I'll know it was you. And I'll make ye regret it. Do ye understand?"
The kunals nodded desperately.
"Go!" the guid folk shouted, watching in satisfaction as they scattered. "Now you, boy." she pointed a gnarled finger at the sea trow, "Yer gonna take this cánach, and yer gonna take him to the babies you took, and yer gonna let him take them home. Understand?"
"Yes'm," the sea trow agreed immediately, trembling where he stood.
"An' then, boy, yer goin' ta serve the acheloid. Understand?"
"Yes'm," the trow said obediently, "for how long, matron?"
"How long d'ye think, cánach?"
"Thirty years. A decade for each of the infants he took." Landon provided, stepping forward and setting the trow off into tears again. The visceral pleasure Landon got from the trow's terror was simultaneously satisfying — it took three infant children after all — but he couldn't help but think of the terror Landon had felt near the noonwraith. It honestly took a little bit of the fun out of it.
"Yessir!" the trow babbled, head nodding rapidly. He tottered out of the clearing, and Landon stalked after him, only glancing back once at the guid folk who looked like she was settling in to wait for him. Good, because Landon had no clue where he was. The trow didn't take him far, crawling down into the roots under a tree Landon couldn't quite fit through, and crawling back up with a baby clutched in its hands. The moment the baby passed the root boundary it's wails were obvious, and Landon cringed even as the trow set the baby down and went to grab the other. Holy fuck.
Landon bent down and carefully tucked the baby into one arm, doing his best to ignore the sight and smell of blood and vomit, doing the same for the other baby when the trow reappeared. It wasn't hard to muster up a glare at the trow, who squeaked and vanished even as Landon made his way cautiously back to the guid folk.
The guid folk hummed upon his return, eyes narrowed as she took in the children. "Shoulda said three-hundred, cánach," she decided with measured calm. Landon nodded in frustrated agreement, trudging after her as she went to the fae gate. It was in silence that they went through and out again, appearing near the hospital, and it was wearily that Landon moved through the shadows to set the babies carefully on the steps in front, whacking the glass hard enough for it to shudder before returning back to the guid folk.
"Ye've got questions." the guid folk said.
"To start, what should I call you? Can't just keep saying 'guid folk.'" Landon said, purposefully lightheartedly as the pair walked back through the fae gate, pausing near a stream so Landon could wash the blood and stench from his hands. He was scrubbing for a while.
"Matrin Havish," she responded easily, "and I you?"
"Landon," the fae was quiet for a moment, thinking on his questions, "Who's the acheloid here?"
"He's the Androscoggin. Goes by Andy, ye'll probably meet, if ye stay here long." Matron Havish replied.
"Andy the acheloid," Landon muttered thoughtfully, and grimaced, "Fuck, is this what every hunt is like?"
Matron Havish laughed, long and loud, "Ah, if ye think that was a hunt, I dunno what ye'd do in an actual hunt. Boy— gean-cánach —ye were given all yer answers. Ye didn't have to look hard fer them trow. Lookit me, cánach."
Landon did, mouth twisted in agitation. "Yer not a hunter. Yer not a demigod," she spat the word with venom, "And yer not responsible for policin' Lewistin' ye hear? I'm the matron here, I shoulda paid closer attention ta them kids. Cánach, had ye just come and tol' me 'Matrin, can ye do summat about the trow?' I woulda looked at ye and said 'Yes sirree, that's ma job.' Though, 'mittedly, I mighta not looked too hard for the kiddies. I care jus' a little bit more 'bout me kin."
Landon hummed, but didn't speak, watching the Matron cross her arms and tap her foot on the ground. She'd started talking agitated, brow furrowed and voice sharp, but her frustration had sharpened into something thoughtful and pointed.
"Ye know, cánach," Matron Havish said slowly, "Yer not great out in tha field. But… Ah could use another source of infirmation. An' yer a little more, ah, involved wit the rest of tha world than a lotta my sources are."
"You mean the human world?" Landon asked cautiously.
"Yes sirree, the human world." Matron Havish grinned a grin full of sharp, craggly teeth. "What'dya say, boy? Are ye in, or out?"
Fuck, Landon thought warily, I am so out of my depth.
"Yeah. I'm in."