no doubt that the cairn described is the one you have seen. The hill, the hollow, the bulbous protuberance on the side of the structure, argue for precise identification.”
I agreed. But the account was standard folklore stuff, and unremarkable at that. I had come across these same shreds and tatters of tales hundreds of times in my studies. It was the common grist of Celtic folklore, after all.
“The chronicle continues,” Nettles said, “recounting several more sightings of wee folk, objects lost and found in the vicinity, and other benign disturbances. And then this . . .” He began reading again.
“MacLagan also introduced me to a farmer living at Grove Farm nearby, Mr. E. M. Roberts, who affirmed the reputation of the Cairn as a Fairy Mound, insisting that his father had once hired a labourer by the name of Gilim, who, returning home one Samhain Eve, espied a Fairy Cavalcade issuing forth from the aforementioned hollow. Directly he hid himself and, when they had gone, hastily made his way down to the mound which he discovered to be standing open. He entered the Cairn and found it bright daylight within and himself in the midst of a green meadow of great extent wherein other Fairy Folk were at labour preparing a banquet. He remarked to himself that the Fair Folk were no longer small, but well above normal stature and beautiful to behold. The most handsome women he had ever seen approached him and offered him to eat of their food, which he accepted, remarking that he had never in his life tasted anything so delicate on his tongue. He remained the whole day with the Fairy Women until at sunset the Fairy Riders returned from their errand and the banquet began, whereupon the prince of the Fair Ones gave him a silver cup of wine and a long yellow coat and asked him if he would stay. The unthinking labourer replied that he was expected at home in the morning, to which the prince observed, ‘Then you must fly at once, my friend, lest your secret find you out!’ Upon the instant, the Fair Company vanished in a golden mist and Gilim found himself in a hawthorn bush hard beside the Cairn, wearing the yellow coat and holding the silver cup which he had been given. Gilim used oft-times to display this coat and cup as a proof of his tale.”
At this, the professor closed the book and lifted his cup as one who has driven the last nail into doubt’s coffin. “What are you thinking?” I asked, already dreading the answer.
“I am thinking your friend Simon has left our world for the Otherworld.”
Though Nettles spoke with simple frankness, the sick dread I had been holding at bay for the last few days swarmed over me at last. The room dimmed before my eyes. The coat . . . the yellow coat . . . I had seen it—and him who wore it.
“The Otherworld,” I repeated softly, naming the fear that had pursued me since Simon’s disappearance. I gulped air and forced myself to stay calm. “Explain, please.”
“It is obvious that Simon manifested a distinct and lively interest in the Otherworld just before his disappearance.”
“Lively interest—that’s all it takes?”
“No”—Nettles sipped his tea thoughtfully—“not all. There would have to be some sort of ritual.”
“There wasn’t any ritual,” I declared, snatching at the fact with a drowning man’s tenacity. “I watched him every second, from the moment we reached the cairn to the instant he disappeared. He didn’t do anything I didn’t do. I mean, I sat down on a rock and he just walked around the thing, asking questions. He was all of a sudden interested in cairns and what was inside—that’s true. But that’s all. He just walked around it once or twice, looking at it. He only left my sight a couple times—when he was on the other side of the cairn.”
The professor merely nodded indulgently. “But that’s it. Don’t you see it yet?”
“No, I don’t see it yet. He didn’t do anything I didn’t do,” I said flatly. I had invested
I agreed. But the account was standard folklore stuff, and unremarkable at that. I had come across these same shreds and tatters of tales hundreds of times in my studies. It was the common grist of Celtic folklore, after all.
“The chronicle continues,” Nettles said, “recounting several more sightings of wee folk, objects lost and found in the vicinity, and other benign disturbances. And then this . . .” He began reading again.
“MacLagan also introduced me to a farmer living at Grove Farm nearby, Mr. E. M. Roberts, who affirmed the reputation of the Cairn as a Fairy Mound, insisting that his father had once hired a labourer by the name of Gilim, who, returning home one Samhain Eve, espied a Fairy Cavalcade issuing forth from the aforementioned hollow. Directly he hid himself and, when they had gone, hastily made his way down to the mound which he discovered to be standing open. He entered the Cairn and found it bright daylight within and himself in the midst of a green meadow of great extent wherein other Fairy Folk were at labour preparing a banquet. He remarked to himself that the Fair Folk were no longer small, but well above normal stature and beautiful to behold. The most handsome women he had ever seen approached him and offered him to eat of their food, which he accepted, remarking that he had never in his life tasted anything so delicate on his tongue. He remained the whole day with the Fairy Women until at sunset the Fairy Riders returned from their errand and the banquet began, whereupon the prince of the Fair Ones gave him a silver cup of wine and a long yellow coat and asked him if he would stay. The unthinking labourer replied that he was expected at home in the morning, to which the prince observed, ‘Then you must fly at once, my friend, lest your secret find you out!’ Upon the instant, the Fair Company vanished in a golden mist and Gilim found himself in a hawthorn bush hard beside the Cairn, wearing the yellow coat and holding the silver cup which he had been given. Gilim used oft-times to display this coat and cup as a proof of his tale.”
At this, the professor closed the book and lifted his cup as one who has driven the last nail into doubt’s coffin. “What are you thinking?” I asked, already dreading the answer.
“I am thinking your friend Simon has left our world for the Otherworld.”
Though Nettles spoke with simple frankness, the sick dread I had been holding at bay for the last few days swarmed over me at last. The room dimmed before my eyes. The coat . . . the yellow coat . . . I had seen it—and him who wore it.
“The Otherworld,” I repeated softly, naming the fear that had pursued me since Simon’s disappearance. I gulped air and forced myself to stay calm. “Explain, please.”
“It is obvious that Simon manifested a distinct and lively interest in the Otherworld just before his disappearance.”
“Lively interest—that’s all it takes?”
“No”—Nettles sipped his tea thoughtfully—“not all. There would have to be some sort of ritual.”
“There wasn’t any ritual,” I declared, snatching at the fact with a drowning man’s tenacity. “I watched him every second, from the moment we reached the cairn to the instant he disappeared. He didn’t do anything I didn’t do. I mean, I sat down on a rock and he just walked around the thing, asking questions. He was all of a sudden interested in cairns and what was inside—that’s true. But that’s all. He just walked around it once or twice, looking at it. He only left my sight a couple times—when he was on the other side of the cairn.”
The professor merely nodded indulgently. “But that’s it. Don’t you see it yet?”
“No, I don’t see it yet. He didn’t do anything I didn’t do,” I said flatly. I had invested
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