Brendan insisted that they ride the streetcar and the subway to the waterfront and walk the last block through the frigid air. A light fog had congealed over the lake, casting an eerie, otherworldly glow upon the condo towers and throwing golden haloes around the street lamps. Brendan knew the fog was part of the glamour woven to distract Humans from the Clan Gathering on the island. Though unnatural, it gave the concrete buildings a spectral loveliness and made the coloured Christmas lights strung in the trees shimmer with magic.
“Christmas,” Charlie said as they reached the Harbourfront complex, a cluster of shops, restaurants, and concert venues clumped around the ferry docks and the small boat marina. In winter there was a skating rink. “It’s a Human celebration of the older Faerie Festival of the Solstice. They have adopted many of our customs without knowing any of the truth behind the day.”
“They have their own reasons to celebrate,” Brendan said defensively. “Just because they don’t know about us and our world doesn’t mean their holidays don’t have value on their own.”
“I know. I wasn’t criticizing.”
“Sorry,” Brendan mumbled. He was on edge.
They passed through packs of people looming out of the fog. Humans were enjoying the deep freeze as best they could, bundled up against the cold and sipping from paper cups of hot chocolate and cider. Some carried skates slung over their shoulders or hanging from hockey sticks as they made their way to the open-air rink by the water. Brendan envied their happiness and wondered if he’d ever feel as comfortable in his life as these people did in theirs. Certainly, they had worries, but they knew what they were and who they were. Brendan hoped he might have that kind of simplicity in his life again one day.
Faeries, too, mingled among their Human cousins, making their way to the Ward’s Island for the Clan Gathering. They flared like torches among the throngs of Humans in Brendan’s Faerie Sight. The Fair Folk were in good spirits, some of them a bit tipsy as they made their way to the Faerie Terminal. The Faerie Terminal was at the end of a pier at the foot of the quay. Only a small piece of red cloth fluttering on the top of a pole indicated its existence. Faeries walked past the flag and disappeared into a denser fog. Humans who approached the same threshold paused and then walked back the way they had come.
Brendan and Charlie passed the pole and found themselves in a dense crush of Fair Folk huddled together on the pier. Brendan had never seen so many Faeries in one place before. The Swan was always full of Faerie clientele, but this was more like a Faerie convention. They were a diverse crowd, too. Skin colours varied from pale like Brendan’s to brown, golden, or deep red, but there were more unnatural hues as well. Brendan saw several with blue skin, some with green, and one with frosty silver.
Their costume also ran from the traditional kimono to high-fashion couture and everything in between. Brendan felt very plain in his parka, jeans, and hoodie.
“Is this ’im, then?” A Faerie with a thick Cockney accent sloshed a can of beer as he pointed at Brendan. “The one oo’s got to be Proved?”
“I guess that’s me,” Brendan affirmed. The Faerie smelled quite strongly of the ale he’d been imbibing. He wore a red ball cap back to front and had a glow stick dangling from a string around his neck.
He squinted at Brendan and laughed. “A lot of trouble fer such a runt!” A gust of beery breath wafted into Brendan’s face.
“Leave off, ’Enry!” A female Faerie jabbed the drinker in the ribs with an elbow. “’E don’t need you slobberin’ all over ’im.” Henry’s companion was a robust-looking Faerie in a miniskirt and tube top with a sparkly jacket thrown over her shoulders. Her massive blond bouffant threatened to topple as she teetered on ridiculous stiletto heels. “’E ain’t ’alf cute, neither.”
“Wha’evs,” Henry grunted. “Where is the Ferryman? Opening ceremony’s in ’alf an hour and I could use the toilet.”
“Oo, me too. I definitely gotta take a slash.”
“’Spose we could walk?”
“Across the ice? In these ’eels? Are you daft?”
They wandered away arguing.
A bell rang in the fog and the pier quieted slightly. All the Faeries turned to face the lake. Out of the mist a shadow loomed, eventually resolving into the broad prow of a barge. Brendan was amazed to see that the frozen surface of the lake flowed like water around the vessel. The boat slowed and bumped into the pier with a dull, ominous thud. All the Faeries fell completely silent as a figure strode out from the foggy deck.
The Ferryman was tall and thin. Only his chin was visible beneath the yellow rain hat he wore. The hat’s brim was crusted with rime.^ 57 An oilskin coat and heavy Wellington boots crackled with frost as he moved toward the dockside. He took up his place with one foot on the barge and the other on the pier, a wooden bucket dangling from his bony fist.
“Come aboard!” the low, raspy voice intoned. He raised the bucket.
Faeries surged forward. Charlie and Brendan joined the queue. One by one, the passengers filed onto the barge, dropping some small gold or silver trinket into the bucket as they passed the Ferryman. When Brendan had first ridden on the ferry, he had no money for passage and so had promised to repay the Ferryman with a service performed in the future. He dreaded the day when the cadaverous creature might call in that debt and determined never to be without payment for passage again. His Human grandfather, whom he could barely recall, had left Brendan a coin collection when he died. The coins were mostly silver dollars from the States and Canada. Brendan never left the house without a handful in his pocket.
He dug into his pocket and came up with a silver coin, dropping it into the bucket when his turn came. The Ferryman made no acknowledgment of the payment, merely staring into the space over Brendan’s head as he passed.
Soon everyone was aboard and the Ferryman pushed off from the pier. The barge made its way through the frozen harbour. The Island of the Ward heaved into view. Conversation among the Faeries picked up again, and soon the barge had a party atmosphere in spite of the chilling figure looming at the tiller.
Standing together in the prow, Charlie and Brendan didn’t speak. They watched the dark line of the island become more distinct as the fog thinned. Shimmering lights hung over the island, reminding Brendan of the northern lights he’d seen once on a family camping trip up north in Algonquin Park. He wondered again at the Fair Folk’s ability to hide in plain sight and marvelled at the power of their Wards and glamours.
With an unnatural abruptness, the fog ended and they came out into the open water surrounding the Faerie Terminal on the Ward’s Island. As the barge nestled up to the dock, Brendan stared in awe at the transformation of the shore. Torches lined the paths leading from the dock into the woods. The bare branches of the trees were strung with glowing crystals that flickered as they reflected the torchlight. Lesser Faeries wove in and out of the trees, immune to the bitter cold as they chased one another and called out in merry voices. Food and drink stalls erected along the path offered a bewildering variety of refreshments.
As soon as the Ferryman secured the barge, the new arrivals disembarked, many rushing to the vendors to purchase drinks or food. The rest made their way up the path. Hanging in the air with no visible means of support was a glowing sign that read FAERGROUND
An arrow pointed up the path in the direction of the Community Centre.
Brendan could hear music wafting from the centre of the island. In spite of his trepidation at the upcoming tests, he felt uplifted by the strains of the pipes, harps, and fiddles and the sound of voices raised in song.
Realizing he was standing on the barge alone save for Charlie, he shook himself and made for the dock.
As soon as their feet hit the wooden planks, the Ferryman pushed off. Brendan watched the barge drift into the mist. He wondered if the Ferryman was the same one he’d been forced to make the bargain with on the night of the Quest. No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than the figure raised a bony finger and pointed straight at him.
“You are remembered,” the deep voice intoned. Having delivered this message, the Ferryman and the boat were swallowed in the fog.
“What was that about?” Charlie asked, mystified.
“Long story,” Brendan muttered. “Let’s go,” he said, wishing to avoid further explanation.
They headed up the path past the food stalls, following the throngs on their way to the Gathering.
^ 55 The Matador is a decrepit old building with a red brick facade in Toronto’s West End. It has seen countless after-hours parties and is a favourite of Faeries and Humans alike because of its rich history and character. A fixture of the honky-tonk scene in Toronto, it was opened by Ann Dunn, a mother of five who needed a
