The Cliffs of Faerie

By Jenneth Leed

Grandmother would tell me stories about the Cliffs of Faerie—and the monsters that lived there. The creatures that crossed into that snowy realm would change in ways none understood.

But t’night was worth the risk.

I crept down the rough-hewn stairs of our cottage, lantern in hand. Grandmother tossed in fits on the cot by the fire, grief invadin’ her dreams. As usual, she called for Clyfforth, but the tiny wolf pup never came.

I stood amidst the shadows, watchin’ Grandmother waste away from a broken heart. She’d rescued the pup near the cliffs on Christmas mornin’ a year ago today, bundlin’ it up in one of her handmade cloaks. She’d given that creature her heart, and now that it was gone…

Grandmother moaned in her sleep. “The monster… It took him to the cliffs.”

The monster.

I gazed through the frosted window and into the torrential blizzard. Clyfforth’s disappearance had been on a night much like t’night. I’d found Grandmother sobbin’ in the center of a frightfully large paw print, and I knew at once that a magical creature from the cliffs had stolen the pup.

I pulled up the hood of my red cloak before slippin’ out our cottage door. “I’ll find him, Grandmother…”

***

Jakob Anwir was the best tracker in our hamlet, and a better bowman at that. If anyone was skilled—and foolish—enough to accompany me across the cliffs durin’ a blizzard, it was he.

Jakob waited at the edge of town, armed with his bow and draped in his usual elaborate furs. He was sharpenin’ an arrow when I arrived.

“All right, Miss Rowan?”

“All right,” I said, eyein’ the animal pelts that looked far warmer than my cloak.

“Y’know yer grandmother wouldn’ blame ya if ya turned back.”

“Let’s pray she never learns of this. If the monsters claimed me as well…” I drew my cloak tighter, shuddering at the thought.

“Well, that’s why ya have me.” Jakob grinned, carefully testin’ the arrowhead’s edge.

Our lanterns did us little good, only lightin’ the angry blizzard as we trekked through knee-high snow. The air ripped at my lungs as ice froze my veins.

“How will ya be able to find ‘im?” I shouted through the storm.

“Don’cha worry.” Jakob tapped his nose. “I have my ways. I should be askin’ ya the same.”

“I’d know that pup anywhere,” I said as we reached the crossin’—the magical veil that divided us from the faeland. “A wolf as white as this blizzard, with eyes bluer than the river in the summertime. It’s not a pup yer to forget.”

“Certainly sounds like a magnificent beast.”

As we stood overlookin’ the crossin’, Grandmother’s stories drove into me with the whippin’ wind—how monsters bewitched by the mountain’s fae roamed these lands. Quail that flew o’er the cliffs would transform into feathered dragons. Kittens into snow lions.

I remembered the massive paw prints outside our cottage and shuddered.

Jakob gave me a reassurin’ smile. Together we crossed into the land of the fae.

The warm candle lights from our hamlet vanished in a swirl of snowy magic, and the wind howled, long and forlorn as we pressed forward.

“Ya see there?” Jakob shouted close to my ear.

I squinted through the storm as we came to the top of a large canyon. “Is that—?”

Two orbs blinked at us through the night, then a colossal canine face materialized from the snow. The entire beast stood from the base of the chasm far below, but still towered o’er us, taller than our watermill. I didn’ have to see its paws to know they were the size of the prints from outside our cottage last Christmas.

The monster.

Jakob launched in front of me with his bow drawn, ready to send an arrow into the monster’s icy blue eyes.

Wait a moment.

Impossible.

“Jakob—I think that’s Clyfforth.” I touched his arm to stay his hand. “When he was taken, the cliffs… changed him.”

“Aye,” Jakob said, shruggin’ me away, “and a fine pelt he’s grown to be. Thank ye for yer assistance…”

My heart froze within me. “Jakob?”

“Yer cloak, Miss Rowan. Yer grandmother made it, didn’ she? Ya asked me how I’d find the creature, and I said I had my ways. I had you to lure it.”

I stared aghast at Jakob and his abundance of thick animal furs. I’d employed a poacher to locate Grandmother’s wolf pup.

Clyfforth whined, like he was still that poor creature Grandmother had found near the cliffs. What if the pup had actually been born here and had wandered off? His family must have ventured into our hamlet and brought him home to the faelands to grow.

“These cliffs are prime huntin’ grounds, Miss Rowan, but a beast of this size is rare, even for me.”

Jakob drew back his bowstring.

“No!” I shoved Jakob, throwin’ his aim. The black arrow flew wide, tearin’ at Clyfforth’s ear. The wolf howled like the swirlin’ winds, mournful and enraged. Cavernous jaws snapped, and I barely rolled to safety.

Jakob dove in the other direction, but Clyfforth swiped an enormous paw across the ridge. An avalanche of snow swept up the poacher in a frozen tidal wave, and I watched him vanish o’er the edge.

The giant wolf turned its eyes on me, fangs bared. Not knowin’ what else to do, I flung my cloak open and let the wind carry Grandmother’s scent into the air.

Just before his teeth ripped me to pieces, Clyfforth stilled, icicle eyes meltin’ into watery puddles. He whimpered and pressed a nose the size of a cottage against me.

I spread my arms wide in a disproportioned embrace. “It’s all right now, Clyfforth. Grandmother will love to see you. I’ll bring her as soon as the storm passes, and she’ll be able to meet your family.”

I’d just have to be sure she didn’ try to adopt any more mountain-sized pups when we visited.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jenneth Leed was raised in the high-speed culture of Washington D.C. where the lines between fiction and reality have blurred for decades. She’s been published in a variety of newspapers, blogs, and anthologies, and is a professional cover designer. When not creating, Jenneth spends her time collecting rubber ducks, pining for her childhood, and chronically overanalyzing Star Wars.

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