Inspired by the Scottish ballad “Tam Lin” (Version A). I have taken several creative liberties with this story. If you would like to read the original tale, as well as some other variations of it, you can find it here.
There are places we should visit only in dreams. Only then can we not be blamed for where we wander. Beware of pebble-dabbled riverbanks, where the water sings. Be afraid of the dark, wet sand where the sea kisses the earth. Never visit a forest at sunset, or strain your ears or eyes for something strange and unknown.
Janet, however, was not afraid. And as she lifted her skirts and hiked towards Carterhaugh, she was awake. Today was a day she had long waited for. Carterhaugh was the only place she knew that was as wild as herself: a forest of green just beyond the moors, where you could breathe in magic like air. Everyone knew that this forest, though under Janet’s father’s name, belonged to the faeries, as all the world once had. And anyone who dared step beyond the forest’s edge was courting the faeries’ wrath.
The tales Janet had heard since childhood flitted in her mind, and begged her to turn back. Carterhaugh was one of those places that ought to stay in stories. But instead, the danger urged her on.
Janet had flirted with the moors for all her life, each day stepping just a bit closer to faerie land than the day before. Janet ventured farther than anyone else dared, and always yearned to go farther still. She was called wild, mischievous, and bad. People whispered about the laird’s ill-behaved daughter, and pitied the burden he bared. Janet pretended not to hear them. Now that she was a woman, she was determined to be tied by no ties, and ruled by no fear.
Janet laid a hand upon her brow and scanned the tree line. She searched for that drop of red she had seen and studied for weeks. Before long she found it: a lone rose, sitting just on the forest’s edge. And not just any rose; it was the most perfect rose in the world. Even from far away, Janet could tell that. Its petals gleamed like rubies, and its leaves and stem were of the deepest green. Janet grinned, and ran to it.
But she was halted in her tracks. A horse, so white it hurt her eyes, stood in her way. She couldn’t say from where it had come, or how it had crossed her path so suddenly. The stallion stared at her with wise, unblinking eyes, and for a moment, Janet was afraid. She wondered if the creature had been sent by the faeries, if it could smell her thieving heart. But the horse made no move to stop her when she took a step closer to her ruby prize, and Janet was calmed. Its gaze, however, did not leave her.
A deep breath coursed through Janet as she knelt down. Her want had conquered her sense. Janet’s fingers wrapped around the thin stem, the only thornless rose that ever was. It was still shiny with dew. She imagined how it would look when she braided it into her golden hair.
She would return home without a word, would simply give a knowing smile. The girls would glare at her with envy, while the men would stare at her with lust. What a thing it would be, to be special. To be envied or desired. For though Janet was the laird’s daughter, she was wild, and had never once been wanted.
Rose-colored visions of a different future swelled Janet’s lonely heart as she plucked the flower from the grass. And as soon as the rose was pulled from the earth, the breeze turned into a gust, the songbirds turned into crows, and just before Janet, a shadow appeared.
Her eyes traveled up, from the black boots, to the broad, sharp sword, to the dark gray eyes of a man. No, not a man; there was no man that stood the way he did, hard and straight as an old oak, with an expression like ice. His face was perfectly formed, too beautiful to be real. But his eyes—his eyes were far too ancient and sad. Janet knew then that he couldn’t be a man; he could only be a faerie.
Janet had never been more afraid in her life, but not a soul would have known. When a wild thing is raised in a cage, it learns to guard itself. So Janet knew how to hide her fear, and to never cry when she was caught. She rose from the ground like a queen, and met the faerie’s harsh gaze.
The man spoke with a voice like frost. “Why have you plucked this flower?” he asked.
Janet’s fist tightened around her rose. She knew the flower was not truly hers, but she couldn’t bear to give it up. It wasn’t fair; the poor thing had just been sitting there, being divine all by itself. And what was wrong with taking just one flower? She desired nothing else. All that she wanted was to be beautiful…
Janet raised her chin boldly. “Because it is mine,” she replied. For it was hers; Carterhaugh belonged to her father, no matter what the faeries might think.
The man stared at her, then narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. “Do you know who I am?” he asked.
Janet swallowed, so that she did not cry. “You are Tam Lin,” she said with forced nonchalance. “You guard the forest of the faeries, and steal away with any mortal who desecrates it.” She squared her jaw and desperately searched for an escape. That was what she did best, and it did not take Janet long to find the way out.
“But you cannot take me, Tam Lin, for I have done no such thing. This flower I have plucked grew just beyond the edge of the forest, upon my father’s land. The faeries have no claim to it. If you take me away, you are the thief.”
For just a moment, his coldness seemed to melt, and Tam Lin smiled. He looked just over her shoulder, and Janet turned to see the white stallion behind her, still staring ahead. It trotted to stand beside Tam Lin.
Tam Lin continued to smile, as he pet the horse’s muzzle. “You are a brave woman,” he said, “to risk so much for such a flower. Or perhaps a foolish one, who does not know enough to be brave.”
Janet colored. She had never been one to let ignore an insult, no matter what trouble it cost her. “I am neither,” she said. “It is neither brave nor foolish to desire.” That was all she had ever done. And Tam Lin seemed to know.
Tam Lin’s smile faded, as he stared at her with his sad gray eyes. “No, Janet,” he said, “it is both.”
She did not have time to wonder what he meant, or how this strange man knew her name. He bowed his head to her in an old-fashioned manner and said, “I will permit you to leave, as you have taken nothing from me. You are free, but must never return.” And before Janet could blink, Tam Lin was gone, disappearing into the forest on the back of his white stallion.
Janet stood in place, on the divide between the faerie realm and her own. She considered all that Tam Lin had said to her. And as she stood, Janet made a decision, one no good, sane woman ever would: she would return to Carterhaugh tomorrow, and discover just who this man was.
It did not take long for Janet to realize how to summon him. Everyday, there was a new flower in the same spot where the first rose had bloomed. The first time she returned and plucked it, Tam Lin had scolded her for not heeding his words, and ordered her to leave. But each time she returned he tried less and less to stop her, until some days he was there before her, with the flower already in his hand.
Some days it was a daisy, and those would be happy hours spent laying in the grass, talking and laughing until the sun spilled over the horizon. Tam Lin would tell her stories of the faerie realm, of the beautiful and mysterious Queen who ruled it, of the celebrations held at Midsummer and All Hallows Eve.
Some days there would be a drooping lily, and Janet would tell Tam Lin of her home, and how out of place she felt in it. It was as if she had been born into the wrong world; she could never seem to do anything right or please a single soul. Tam Lin would hold her shaking shoulders as she tried not to cry, and share in her sorrow as if it were his own.
Some days there would be a rose, just as bright and red as the first, and Janet would tell Tam Lin how wonderful it was to find a soul that knew her own. She would say, “I love you,” and he would say the same. And he would kiss her and Janet would feel warm and safe at last, despite the coldness of his lips.
No day or flower was the same, but Janet thought each more perfect than the last. She kept them locked in a wooden box hidden under her bed, where they never withered.
Janet felt closer to Tam Lin than anyone she had ever known, but there was still very little she knew about him. When he spoke of the faerie realm, Tam Lin did not speak as if he were a part of it, but as if it were a pageant he had once seen. He never spoke of himself. If it seemed he might, his eyes would suddenly shut, and he would turn his head away. Tam Lin would then seem lost and faraway, so Janet tried not to wonder about the things he could not share.
But every time she would make to leave, and Tam Lin would say, “Please stay a little longer,” and kiss her hand, Janet knew him well enough to love him.
It was on a rainy October day that Janet did not visit Tam Lin for the first time . On that day, her maid had discovered the flowers in the box under her bed. A page had seen her sneaking across the moors and back again, her yellow hair loose behind her. And when she could no longer hide it, her lady-in-waiting had seen the growing swell of her belly. And her mother and father had been informed of each of these things.
“All will be well,” her father said in a controlled and soothing voice. “But you must tell us who the father is.”
“No,” Janet said, in a voice untouched by tears.
The old man who advised her father, a knight too gray to fight, bent down and whispered, “It is likely some vagrant, my laird; it is not a man suited to be your son-in-law. Who else would steal a woman’s maidenhood and leave her like this?”
“No,” Janet said again, for the old knight had not spoken as softly as he had thought. “He is no vagrant.”
The gray knight then turned purple. “You would lie, then, and destroy the honor of some gentleman, as this man has destroyed your own?”
“It would be no dishonor,” interrupted the laird, “to wed my daughter. Besides, she has not yet begun to show.”
“There is no need then, to name the true man,” his lady-wife said. “We can simply choose someone fit to wed Janet.”
“No,” Janet said for a third time. They would choose a man who would never love her, a man who would keep her caged. “This choice is mine and mine alone, as this child is mine and mine alone. I will not wed.” The hall was silent.
Her father gave a thin-lipped smile to hide his growing rage. “Janet,” he said slowly, “this is not one of your childish games. This is not one of your faerie stories. You may either tell us the father, and wed him if he is fit, or we will decide who the father is.”
It was then that Janet smiled too, and laughed. The sound cut through the hall and spread like a chorus of magpies. The three were then frightened that Janet had gone mad, and were not reassured when she spoke:
“Oh, Father! How foolish you are! You have banned faerie stories, and now will never know the truth! For my child’s father can never be found, but in the woods of Carterhaugh.”
Another laugh filled her throat, but died before it could pierce the hall. Janet was silenced by her father’s face, heavy with disappointment and sorrow, a look she knew all too well. Janet was a wild girl who tied no ties, but for the first time, she regretted her freedom.
“Please,” her father said. “Please let me help you, my little bird.”
Janet then thought several things at once, as all wild creatures must learn to do. The first thought was that she could never be happy at her home. She could never be happy where her soul went unloved. The second was that her child’s true father would never wed her. No faerie could love a human that much. And since she would wed no other, she could never wed.
The third thought came after the first two, and it was the first two that led her to it. There was only one path before her now: a lonely path she herself had carved. And there was only one way not to walk upon it.
Janet faced her mother and father. Then, without a word, she ran from the hall and across the moors to Carterhaugh.
A piece of her still hoped. That was why Janet had come here, just as the sky began to turn from blue to black. She wondered if he would still appear, when she chose the wrong flower. She wondered if it would even matter. But despite her doubts, as soon as she plucked the nightshade, Tam Lin did appear.
His eyes were wide and his face was wild. He looked more human than she had ever seen him, as he stared at the poison in her hand. “Why have you plucked this flower?” he asked with desperation.
His face dared her to hope; it was a wild, foolish hope that made her ask, “Are you human?”
Tam Lin stared at her, caught off guard. He frowned. “You have not answered me,” he said.
“Are you human?” Janet asked again.
In a voice like cold air, Tam Lin replied. “Yes.”
Janet’s lips parted, drawing in what she had never imagined could be true. She knew a faerie would want nothing to do with a mortal bairn…but if he were truly human…
“I am with child,” she announced, quickly, before her hope could fly away again.
Tam Lin froze, then stared at the ground in shock. His gaze rested on the mist-coated grass, and when he looked up again, he was smiling, as tears ran down his cheeks.
“Janet,” he said, “I’m so happy.” He sounded so truly glad that Janet could not help but smile too. But Tam Lin soon turned grim, and forced his head back down. “I wish that I could have known my child,” he whispered.
“What do you mean? You can—you will!”
“Janet, there are many things I have not told you.” Their eyes met. “I am sorry,” said Tam Lin.
“Tell me now,” said Janet without hesitation.
Tam Lin did not speak for a moment; but then he did, and did not stop.
“Centuries ago, I was a mortal man. I lived as a knight, and served my grandfather, who was my laird. One winter day, my grandfather and I embarked on a hunting trip, long before these lands had the names they now hold. This was when faeries ruled all the world. I should have been afraid, to be in the heart of their kingdom. But I was not.
“I wandered off on my own, sure that my bow and broadsword were a match for whatever I might find. I did not think that I would be the one who was found. The Queen of Faeries spied me. She was furious, and decided to punish me for my pride. She flew at me, ripped me from my steed, and made me her own. As punishment for my desecration of the faerie lands, I was tasked with doing the same to whoever wandered into the faerie lands. And every seven years, at Miles Cross on All Hallows Eve, I must give the faeries the captured mortal who was drawn to the wilds by the wild in their heart, and thought to make it their own. I must let the mortal be sacrificed as a teind to hell. Janet, that mortal was to be you.
“But of course I could not do it,” Tam Lin reassured her. “I loved you from the start. That was why I let you go; I hoped some other mortal would come. But instead, you reappeared. And then I began to fall in love.” Tam Lin looked at his hands, pale as snow beneath his black gloves. “I began to remember that I was human. And as I loved you more and more, I realized that I was human enough to die in your place.”
“No!” Janet cried. Her hand flew to her mouth in horror. “No, I will not let it happen.”
“There is no other way,” said Tam Lin.
Janet’s chest heaved up and down. She could not think, but knew she must act. She was a wild girl, and when a wild thing loves, it would burn down the world to save one soul.
“There will be no teind,” said Janet. “I will not let it happen.”
Tam Lin swallowed, and looked afraid. “There is one way,” he said, slowly, regretfully. “We would have to end the cycle. You would have to reclaim me from the Queen of Faeries. But it will not be simple. It will not be easy.”
“But I will,” said Janet, with her back straight and her eyes bright. “I will save you, Tam Lin.”
On the darkest night of the year, a night the stars littered the sky alongside an orange moon, Janet stood in the shadows of Miles Cross, and waited for Tam Lin to appear. The faeries surrounded her, each one pale as death. They were dressed in the richest finery she had ever seen. Some rode upon horses bathed in soft, pale light, while others floated just above the ground. Their sharp faces were even more beautiful than Tam Lin’s. Terrifyingly so. As they passed, an eerie twinkling of bells could be heard. But Janet made no sound, and the faerie procession paid her no mind. They had little care for earthly things.
The faeries proceeded onwards, and Janet held her breath until the first riders were before her. The very first rode a black mare. She did as Tam Lin had told her, and waited for him to pass. The second rode a chestnut horse. She remembered what Tam Lin had said, and waited for her to pass.
But when Janet saw the white stallion, shining in the moonlight, she ran. Janet pushed through the sharp-eared throng, which screeched and tried to bite her. Her feet carried her to the horse she had first seen so long ago, and she leapt upon its back. As Janet slid over its side, she held tight to the waist of its rider, and pulled herself and Tam Lin to the ground.
It was then that silence seized the forest. Not an owl or cricket dared to stir. Her hand clasped in Tam Lin’s, Janet looked over her shoulder, at the thing that had turned her lover’s face ashen.
It was the Queen of Faeries. She rode on the back of a unicorn, that pawed the ground with its hooves, and thrust its sharp horn into the air. The Queen was more beautiful than anything that had ever been, or would ever be. She looked like every season all at once, every force of nature, with lips like blood and eyes like stars.
The Queen raised a porcelain hand, her golden eyes not leaving Janet’s. It was only when Janet heard an awful sound, the sound of Tam Lin’s scream, that she was able to tear her gaze away.
Tam Lin had told her what would happen, but Janet still wanted to cry. For she no longer held her lover’s hand, but an adder, that twisted and spit and wound itself in strange, upsetting ways. The next moment it was a salamander, bathed in a crisp yellow glow and nipping viciously at her fingers. But Janet did not so much as flinch as she held the creature to her chest. “I love you,” she said, “and I know who you are.”
The creature suddenly transformed, and now Janet was hugging a bear with the head of a lion. It roared and scratched with rage-filled eyes and a foaming mouth. “I love you,” Janet shouted, “and I know who you are.”
The beast was now an iron bar, like that a blacksmith beat into a sword. It was red and hot, and weighed heavily upon her chest. Janet thought she might collapse under it, or else be burned alive. “I love you,” she gasped, “and I know who you are.”
Then Tam Lin became a hot coal, that sat in the palm of her hands. It jumped and sparked, telling her it was time. Janet ran to the faerie’s well, where no mortal had ever dared tread, and dropped the rock into its waters. It sank and disappeared.
Janet held her breath, then cried out with ecstatic relief. For out of the well climbed Tam Lin, naked and tired and free. His skin was rich and tan, and his smile was broad. Janet wrapped him in her cloak and kissed him long and hard. For the first time, she felt warm lips beneath her own.
Behind her, Janet heard a sharp, high sound. She spun around, with her arms still wrapped around Tam Lin. The sound had been a laugh. The Queen of Faeries was laughing.
She smiled at Janet, showing her perfectly straight, blindingly white teeth. “If I had known he could fall in love,” she said, “I would have torn out his lovely eyes.” Then she laughed her awful laugh again.
Tam Lin and Janet did not stay to hear more. They mounted Tam Lin’s horse, as the faeries watched in silence. They were helpless to stop them, now that Tam Lin belonged only to Janet, just as she belonged only to him. Janet and Tam Lin rode until they had left Carterhaugh behind far behind them, and had arrived in an even greener land, sun-kissed and flower-filled. And it was here that they and their child lived in peace, love, and freedom for all the rest of their days.
When the mortals were gone, the faeries turned to their Queen. They watched her face as she listened, long into the morning, when the doves finally began to coo again, and the sun lighted on moss-covered trees. If the Queen of Faeries was enraged, or humiliated, or saddened, not a soul would have known.
But when she heard the sound of hooves, the Queen’s expression changed. She smiled. For she could now smell the blood of a lost horseman, with eyes of forest green. Beneath her feet, roses bloomed again.
The End.
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