He dropped Kaye's hand and snatched at one, although it darted out of his grip. "I can't see anything. Are those the things… what you saw from the road?"
She shook her head. "No. Those lights were bigger."
He squatted down, his breath rising from his lips in puffs of white vapor. "Can you see them now?"
She shook her head. "Lutie said something about the opening being in a brown patch of grass, but practically the whole hill is covered with brown grass."
"Maybe the patch is bare by now."
Kaye knelt down next to Corny and cupped her ear to the ground. There was faint music. "Listen. You can hear it."
He moved to her side and pressed his ear to the ground as well. "Music," he said. "Sounds like pipes."
"It's beautiful," she said, the smile on her face before she remembered that this was not a good place they were trying to enter.
"Let's walk a circuit around the hill. We'll both look for any patch that seems weird." Corny stretched from his squat and waited for her to start walking.
The graveyard was unnaturally quiet. The moon was, if anything, fuller and fatter than it had been when she last saw it. It seemed unnatural; the thing looked bloated in the sky, and she thought again about the sun bleeding to death while the moon grew tumescent with devoured light.
The newer, granite gravestones were all polished to an unnatural mirror shine that reflected her and Corny as they passed. The older markers were a pale, milky marble, grass stains and dirt washed out by the moonlight. Pale as Roiben's hair.
"Hey, what about that?" Corny pointed to a patch of grass that did seem a different shade of brown.
Kneeling down beside it, Corny pulled back a corner as though it were the flap of a sod tent. Corny leaned in.
"No," Kaye said. "I have to go in there alone."
"I want this," Corny said. "You said you wouldn't leave me behind."
"It's probably not safe for me to go. I'll be back as soon as I can." Kaye shimmied into the entrance. "I promise."
The music seemed louder now, pipes and laughter swelling in the quiet night. Kaye heard Corny say "You get to have all the fun" as she followed the song inside.
Chapter 7
"Listening to the prisoned cricket
Shake its terrible dissembling
Music in the granite hill"
—Louise Bogan, "Men Loved Wholly Beyond Wisdom"
She slipped inside the hollow hill.
The air itself seemed thick with sweetness, and breathing was disorienting.
Long, low tables were heaped with golden pears, chestnuts, bowls of bread soaking in buttery milk, pomegranates ripped in half and half again, violet petals on crystal plates, and all manner of strange delicacies. Wide silver goblets sat like toads on the tables, upright and overturned in equal proportion. Scarlet-clad faerie ladies brushed past men in torn rags, and courtiers danced with crones.
Revelers danced and sang, drank and swooned. The costumes were varied and completely unlike medieval clothes. They were more like some demented, organic couture. Collars rose like great fins. Outfits were composed entirely of petals or leaves. Ragged edges finished off lovely dresses. Ugly, strange, or lovely as the moon, none were plain.
"The Unseelie Court," she said aloud. She had expected something else, a cave, maybe, filled with gnawed human bones and faerie prisoners. Something simple. Looking out into the throng of revelers, she didn't know what to think.
The room itself was massive, so large that she wasn't sure what was on the other side. Far across the room, what looked like a giant, slouched near a dais. Each step seemed to push her in a new direction, full of splendors. A fiddler was playing an improbable instrument, with several necks and so many strings that the fiddler sawed his bow at them wildly. A long-nosed woman with freckles and ears like a jackal's juggled pinecones. Three men with red hair and double rows of shark teeth dipped their caps in a pile of carnage, soaking up the blood. A huge creature with bat wings and limbs like stilts sat atop a table and lapped at a beaten copper bowl of cream. It hissed at Kaye as she passed it.
Above them all, the domed ceiling was frescoed with dangling roots.
Kaye picked up a goblet off a table. It was ornate and very heavy, but it seemed clean. She poured a thin, reddish liquid from the silver carafe in the center of the table. Small seeds floated at the top, but the drink smelled pleasant and not entirely strange, so she took a swallow of it. It was both sweet and bitter and went to her head so that, for a moment, she was obliged to hold the table for support.
She took a silvery apple from a pile of strange, thorny fruit, turned it over in her hand, and gingerly bit into it. It was crimson on the inside and tasted like watery honey. It was so good that she ate it core and all, till she was licking her hand for juice. The next was brown and rotten-looking as she bit into it, but the meat, though gritty, tasted of a fiery and sweet liquor.
She felt an infectious giddiness come over her. Here, nothing she did was strange. She could twirl and dance and sing.
All at once she was aware of how far into the crowd she had gone. She had been turned around so many times she no longer even knew which direction was the way back.
She deliberately tried to retrace her steps. Three woman walked past her, silver gowns trailing like fine mist. The low cut of the identical dresses showed off the women's hollow backs. She looked again, but their concave backs were as smooth and empty as bowls. She forced herself to keep moving. A short man—a dwarf?—with intricate silver bracelets and shoulder-length black curls leered at her as he bit into an apricot.
Every moment became more unreal.
A winged boy skipped up to her, grinning.
"You smell like iron," he said, and reached out a finger to poke her side.
Kaye scuttled away from his hand to a chorus of laughter. Her eyes focused on the pale grasshopper green of the insect wings attached to the boy's back.
She pushed through the crowd, weaving past dancers leaping in complex intertwining circles, past a clawed hand that snatched at her ankle from beneath the heavy scarlet cloth on one of the tables, past what looked like a debauched living chess game.
A satyr with a curly beard and ivory horns was hunched over, carefully ripping the wing off a small faerie trapped in his meaty fist. The thing screeched, beating its other wing hummingbird-swift against the fingers that held it. Pale green blood dribbled over the goat-man's hand. Kaye stopped, stunned and sickened to watch as the satyr tossed the little creature in the air. It flew in desperate circles, spiraling to the earthen floor.