"Once upon a time there was a young woodsman," the old woman began.

Ridley couldn't help rolling her eyes, and a sigh escaped over her black painted lips. A latte back at the Pathos and Cream was suddenly looking better and better. She'd have to put up with Sisters of Mercy's Greatest Hits playing in a perpetual loop, but at least the café would be warmer than this damn park. Glancing across the firepit, she realized her bad humor hadn't gone unnoticed.

The ancient woman's eyes narrowed into yellow slits. Her pronounced canines flashed with irritation in the firelight. "Are you going to do that all night, girl?"

"Sorry," Ridley said without conviction. "I just didn't expect the Grimm's fairy tale beginning is all. Sorta trite isn't it?"

"Listen, you little snot. All stories have a beginning, and that is one of the best. Now do you want me to tell this tale or not? Old Meg can think of better things to do than piss away a night listening to your bellyaching."

Ridley nearly spit some witty retort at the woman, but stopped. The truth was she did want to hear the story. Hell, she'd been searching for weeks for someone who knew it. No matter how tempting it felt to be a wise ass, she couldn't afford to lose this opportunity.

Why else would she have come to Crossroads Park at night, if not out of pure necessity? People had a tendency of disappearing beneath these gnarled willow trees. Even the punks and gangbangers didn't come down here at night. Purple once told Ridley that the Wyld Hunt lived somewhere in the park, and ate those who displeased them. Although Purple had done some time in a mental institution and chatted with her dog like it was human, the girl knew her stuff. She had directed Ridley down here in the first place, after a great deal of prodding on Ridley's part. Finally, Purple had relented and told her about Old Meg and where to find the woman. "It's your funeral," she'd said, then walked off muttering to herself.

So here Ridley was, in the worst section of Crossroads Park. In front of her was the only person capable of helping her find the source of true magic. It was better to play along with the crazy hag than aggravate the situation further. Besides, she'd already promised to help out the woman in return, and a promise was a promise, even if she didn't know what "helping out" meant. There was no going back, not now.

Ridley tossed a piece of bark into the fire, trying to look nonchalant. "Sure. Tell away. But you're not the only one that doesn't like being jerked around. This had better be worth it."

Old Meg grinned hideously. Her fingers played through the oily mess squatting on top of her head. "Oh, it will be. Trust us. Now where was I?"

"Once upon a time..."

"That's right," Meg said in a voice like old parchment. "Once upon a time there was a young woodsman. He lived in a village near Fishbourne in West Sussex. A foul little place that only survived because they still had timber to sell. Unless you desired to simply drink and cut wood all your life, there was nothing else to stir one's heart. That is why the young boy hated every moment of his existence."

"What was his name," Ridley asked.

"Huh?"

"What was the boy's name? He must have had a name."

Old Meg scratched the end of her infinitely long nose. "You really are annoying, aren't ya?"

"Well, if you really know this story, wouldn't you know the guy's name?"

"Avery. His name was Avery."

Ridley snickered, "Sucks to be him. Sounds like a girl's name. Was he queer?"

A low growl came from the ancient woman. She pointed a skeletal finger at Ridley's chest, accentuating each word with a jab. "That was a very proud man's name back then, pig-filth. Now shut your yap or piss off with ya."

It took a moment for the smirk to disappear from Ridley's lips. When it had, she motioned for the woman to go on.

"As I was saying," Old Meg continued, "Avery hated every moment of his life in that cow's arse of a town."

"I can relate to that."

Old Meg snorted, "Isn't any easier being young now than it was then. The youth have this wanderlust in their hearts because they're too stupid to realize that the world ain't no better over the hill. Everywhere you go, you lot always think there'll be somewhere better."

"The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence."

"Aye. But you still have to weed it, don't ya?"

Ridley smirked and nodded. "Touché"

The woman leaned back and pulled a long pipe from the skin-like folds of her jacket. She stuffed it full with tobacco, then lit it with a stick from the fire. A sweet scent like sage filled the air as she puffed away. The smoke appeared to soften her harsh features, removing untold years.

"Now," Old Meg continued, "As I was saying, like you, Avery wanted nothing more than to pull up his roots and travel the world. To seek his fortune while he was still young. But one thing stopped him. He didn't have the slightest clue of what to do once he got out there. So Avery stayed in the village, working and growing older.

"He would have died there too, but he had one talent that most didn't. The ability to listen. And listen he did. To every story, every rumor, every scrap of news he could overhear in the pub. That's how it came to be that he learned about the Distant City."

All Rights reserved by Isis Rising Gallery which solely represents the work of Gilbert Williams. Click on the link to visit: http://www.gilbertwilliams.com

Ridley's ears now burned. The Distant City. Finally, they were getting to the point. Purple had spoken of it once, saying that her dog, aptly named Dog, came from the place. She didn't go into details, only hinting that the City was the source of all things magical. Finding it was like unlocking all the mysteries of the world. Just by walking its streets one could become a part of magic itself and grow powerful from the experience.

Ridley had poured over books for references to the place, but found little beyond conjecture. People knew it existed, but no one knew how to get there. They barely understood what it was. Ridley's obsession grew stronger with every disappointment. Hearing the name spoken so openly made her heart race.

Old Meg didn't miss the expression emblazoned on Ridley's face. The woman smiled broadly and chuckled.

"Do you know what it is, this Distant City?"

"The source of magic."

This brought a loud laugh from Old Meg. "Magic is not a place, kitten. Its source comes from within everything. You just have to know how to unlock it from within yourself."

"Oh please. I've heard that crap before from every New Ager."

"True that many of today's witches don't know bollocks, but some have the right idea."

"So, if it isn't the source of magic, what is the Distant City?"

The smoke appeared to swirl around Old Meg, taking on the ethereal shapes of buildings and spires. Those lasted for only a heartbeat, then faded away so quickly Ridley wondered if it wasn't just her imagination playing tricks. A glacial breeze slithered into the grove, making the willow trees hiss. Ridley hardly noticed the cold, focusing instead on Meg's every word.

"The Distant City is where the Fey Folk and their kin went to hide," Old Meg began. "I'm not just talking those prissy, little things you read about now. I'm talking about beings that could make your heart stop with one glance. Creatures so beautiful that you'd pine away into dust after a single kiss. They're nightmares and dreams alike, each one woven by tales and superstition. They came together in one place and made it their own."

"But why? And where is this place?"

"Because humans destroy what they don't understand or can't control. It's in their nature. Long ago, people honored such creatures, respected and worshipped them. But as all humans do, they eventually grew angry and filled with envy. So they chased these phantasms away with fire and cold iron. Desperate for a new home, the Fey erected a city between Heaven and Hell, for they were not welcome in either place. That became their eternal sanctuary. With their departure, the essence of magic became so weakened it was nearly forgotten.

"Now. Shall I go on with my story?"

Ridley wanted to hear more of the facts rather than fancy, but reluctantly nodded. It was the old woman's way of explaining things. The truth would come out soon enough. She waved some of the smoke from her face and listened.

"Like you, Ridley," Old Meg said, "Avery heard bits and pieces about the Distant City, a song here, a poem there. The ravings of a mad man and the melodies of a bard became equally important. His yearning grew in his belly like a fire, until one day he could stand it no more. Taking what few possessions he had, Avery left the village and wandered into the woods to seek out the spires of the Distant City.

"Following in the footsteps of others before him, he traveled across the country. Every so often, he'd catch a glimpse of something off on the horizon. The glimmer of a gold-covered rooftop. The colors of the rainbow shining through a stained glass window. The scents of jasmine and sage. Or sometimes the whispers of passionate music like Selkie song. But, no matter how he tried to follow these clues, the Distant City stayed forever elusive. It always remained an arm's length away, taunting him."

Ridley understood this full well through her own search for the Distant City. As she wandered throughout Willow Hills, she'd catch fleeting impressions of the mythical realm. Ghostly music in the alleyway or the faerie lights dancing under Nucklavee Bridge would always fade before she could find their source. Every hopeful sign served only to drive her mad with further frustration.

"Years passed by, and soon Avery developed another plan, more from sheer desperation than anything. Beginning atop Mount Snowdonia, he started walking outwards in a widdershins path. Eventually, he knew that he was no longer in this world, having traveled further than the land would allow. The British Isles could have been only so large, after all. Several weeks passed, and while he should have been strolling into the ocean by then, Avery remained surrounded by a thick forest. He caught glimpses of the Distant City through the trees, more often than before, but the destination evaded him still.

"Finally, he came across a tiny cottage. It was the first sign of humanity he'd seen in months. And a good thing too. His food reserves had grown low and he was infinitely tired. Just the chance to hear someone's voice outweighed the need to continue his quest. As he approached the cottage, a young woman came outside and smiled in greeting."

"I bet you she was a witch or something," Ridley interjected, "Who else would be out there?"

"Aye. That she was. And not one of your run-around-under-the-moon-naked-because- it's-trendy types, either. Nope, she had run as a wolf and flown the skies as a raven. The tawny haired beauty had the blood of the Fey Folk and had studied at Queen Titania's feet as a child. Her eyes held the Mysteries in them and her voice could charm fish from the sea. Avery fell under her sway the moment he saw her."

"Men. If they'd start thinking with the right head maybe they'd stop falling for the oldest trick in the book."

Old Meg blew another ring of smoke into the air, laughing softly. "The heart is an easy thing to trick. And it doesn't just hold true for men. Infatuation comes in many forms."

"I guess," Ridley shrugged. "So, are we going to get to the Distant City or are you going to tell me about this tryst he had?"

"Well, Avery was not the only one yearning for company, kitten. The witch... let's call her Morgan."

"I thought you knew her name."

"It was a name she used at the time. It wasn't as if she'd throw her true name about, Ridley. Gods, you people can be as thick a stump sometimes."

Ridley lay down on her side, stretching out on the grass. She wrapped her jacket around her for warmth. The sweet smoke and late hour had made her bones weary. "Why not? What's in a name?"

"Power. Knowing one's true name gives you command over them. Avery, however, never learned that. So he gave his name to the witch freely."

"Sucks to be Avery."

"Aye," Old Meg smirked, her eyes sparkling with renewed vigor. "The witch offered him food and lodging. In exchange, he helped by cutting the firewood for the coming winter. He also built a new stable and repaired her cottage. The boy was as skilled at carpentry as he was handsome. This made him even more attractive to the witch."

She pointed the end of her pipe at Ridley, grinning. "He had your eyes too. She'd always loved blue. Reminded her of watching the ocean from the Isle of Man."

"Let me guess. She fell in love with him?"

"To a point, yes, as much as a witch could love a mortal. Although her heart belonged to magic, it wasn't like she couldn't develop feelings for a man. They became lovers just as the autumn leaves began to fall. My, what a pair they made. I doubt either would have gotten through the winter alone without each other's company. Both had been alone for too long."

"Being alone isn't that bad a thing," Ridley snorted.

"Well, they weren't as tough as you are now, were they? Will you stop your posturing and just listen to the story, sheep's dropping?"

Ridley wrinkled her nose, but remained silent. She let her middle finger do all the talking.

Old Meg ignored the gesture and continued telling her story. Her voice became huskier with an edge of melancholy.

"When the spring returned, Morgan realized that something called to her lover. She could see it in his crystal eyes when he stared out at the forest. She tried to make him happy, to love him and make him feel like he had a home. But like all that seek the Distant City, he only wished to continue his search. He never appreciated what he had at his fingertips. Morgan could have provided him with the world, but he wanted more. So much like you, Ridley.

"Finally she confronted him. They stood beneath an oak tree as they talked, the shade from the new leaves dancing over their disheartened faces. He told her of the City and his quest to find it. Morgan regarded him sadly and nodded. She told him that she knew how to get to the city gates, as she had been there many times before. Humans were forever barred from entering the Distant City, but she knew a way he could get in. If he was willing, that is.

"'I love you, Avery,' she said, 'But if this is what you wish, I shall assist you. But be warned, my dear. There is always a price.'"

Again, Ridley leaned forward, eyes locked on Old Meg's face. This is what she had been waiting for. She was so intent on the story, she barely noticed how Old Meg's features and yellow-brown hair had softened even further. Now they hinted at a refined beauty she must have held in youth.

"He said he would do anything for this knowledge, and meant it. So they struck up a deal. 'You shall remain with me for a year and a day, Avery, serving me however I so choose,' she told him. 'In exchange, I will teach you the path to the Distant City.'

"Considering the joy that he felt helping her the previous winter, he couldn't think of a simpler request. What was another year compared to wandering aimlessly until the day he died? He leaned close and kissed her lips tenderly. 'I agree,' he said. Morgan just stared at him, heartbroken.

"'So be it, Avery. Thrice named, so do I have power over you. For a year and a day you shall serve me as I require. Then I shall give you what you covet more than anything else.'

"Avery found the world growing much larger. In seconds, Morgan towered over him, looking down with tearful eyes. He looked at his hands and saw them changing into paws. Whiskers sprouted from his cheeks. He grew a long tail and gray fur. A moment later, where a man once stood, now crouched a very confused looking cat.

"'My request of you is to serve me as a mouser,' she said. 'You will hunt at night and keep me company during the day. This is my demand of you.'"

Ridley blinked and sat up on her elbow. "Wow. She turned him into a cat? Weird."

Old Meg talked on, not answering the question. "Avery became accustomed to his feline existence and served as a skilled mouser for the year and a day Morgan requested. During the evenings they would talk of many things and at night he would curl up by her feet or at the hearth. It was a simple life. And when the time finally came, Morgan told him how to travel to the Distant City. True to her word, it was easy enough for him to find now. It took him hardly a fortnight to reach the city gates. He has been there ever since, wandering the streets and exploring the city's unspeakable wonders. It has become his true home."

The woman began to stand up, moving with greater ease than would be expected of an old woman. She grinned down at Ridley. She seemed unusually tall for some reason, more so than Ridley remembered.

"From what I am told, his nightly caterwauls can still be heard to this day. He always did fashion himself a singer."

Ridley tried to stand up, but a growing sense of vertigo made her unsteady. The world around her became expansive and unfamiliar. Her jeans and leather jacket felt loose over her body. She stared up at Old Meg, who didn't seem that old any more. Indeed, she looked younger by the second. Her tawny hair shone in the firelight, and infinitely deep eyes stared back down from a frightening height.

"So, now that I've told you the story, Ridley, it is time to repay me as we agreed upon. I hope you found it worth your while, my thrice-named kitten."

Ridley wanted to talk, but found her voice playing tricks on her. All that came out was a strange mewing sound. Old Meg knelt down beside her and scratched Ridley's pointed ear with an enormous hand.

"But first," Old Meg said, "Tell me one thing.

"Do you like mice?"

 

 

Jason Fryer has been a freelance writer for thirteen years, publishing fiction and non-fiction articles. Many of his publishing credits come from Europe. Originally from Canada, Mr. Fryer works as an Editorial Assistant for a medical journal in Texas and is working on his first novel.