Glorious Grace - Part Two of Three

Glorious Grace and the Gruesome Glamour (continued)




The girl was made completely out of wood,
Her dress and hair were shiny leaves, bright blue,
She smiled and Grace sensed that the girl was good,
Her eyes were brilliant green and they shone true.

The girl of wood opened her mouth and spoke,
Her voice was a gentle whispering sigh,
‘My name is Ash, a Dryad of the Folk,
Where would you like to go, dear Grace, and why?’

‘How do you know my name?’  Grace had to know,
‘Oh, Grace,’ said Ash.  ‘Sure, everyone knows this,
Your coming was foretold long years ago,
For destiny was written for you, Miss.

The Marvellous Book of Perspicacious Tales,
Holds all there is to know, Grace, about you,
In telling what will be, it never fails,
For all that’s in it’s absolutely true.

It is a massive book, filled with glories,
Though not so big as one I have not read:
The Terrible Tome of Scurrilous Stories,
Filled with great falsehoods and fables of dread.’

Grace was quite surprised that Faeries could read,
For that they might had never crossed her mind,
It mattered not a whit to her, indeed,
She had a Quest – sweet baby Rose to find.
Like Grandma told her to, Grace spoke these words:
By Holy Saint Patrick, twinkle these toes,
And let us fly, as swift and free as birds,
To take me to my baby sister, Rose.

Grace’s paralysis was broken then,
She stepped forward and told Ash of her Quest,
It took a few minutes, no more than ten,
For Grace to get the story off her chest.

Ash cried out loud, her wooden face was dazed,
‘If you really want, I’ll take you to Rose,
But there are places to leave you amazed:
The Waterfall of Translucent Rainbows?’

‘Take me to baby Rose,’ Grace shook her head,
‘The Waterfall is loud,’ said Ash.  ‘It roars,
We could try somewhere more peaceful instead:
The Immaculate House of Crystal Doors.’

‘No!’  Grace crossly said.  ‘Take me to Rose, right now!’
‘There’s no need to get acrimonious,’
Said Ash.  ‘I know the perfect place to go:
The Garden of Flora Harmonious.’

Grace lost her temper then and stamped her foot,
Ash wailed, ‘I give up, Grace, your mind is set,
I’ll argue no more now; the point is moot,
But you’ll regret your choice some time, I bet.’
With those words of warning, Ash walked ahead,
Grace followed her, a few short steps behind,
Over the Silvertop Hills, Grace was led,
Ash walked very fast, but Grace did not mind.

In no time at all, they were out of the hills,
For miles and miles lay great wide open leas,
Filled with thousands of blooms in splendid spills,
And all around, Grace heard the buzz of bees.

They wound their way across the Fragrant Plain,
Not once did their feet leave the Golden Road,
Petals filled the air with sweet silken rain,
And Grace thought her senses would overload.

They came to a crossroads, four different ways,
A signpost pointed North, South, East and West,
It seemed they had been walking many days,
Yet Grace was not tired or in need of rest.

She asked Ash why the sign said what it did,
To Grace, it did not seem to make much sense,
Ash said, ‘Ask the sign.’  Grace did as she bid,
‘Why North, South, East and West?  Am I just dense?’

The wooden sign bent down, a face appeared,
Right at the top of the central shaft,
It was wrinkled and had a twiggy beard,
And said, ‘Of course not, Grace.  You’re far from daft.
On any Quest, the direction you choose,
Is critical, not where you’re going to,
And signs are tricky things, no more than clues,
The more they tell, the less they say is true.

Now take myself, you see, instead of East,
I could say Xanadu, where that road ends,
But that’s ten thousand miles away, at least,
And from this place to that are many bends.

Turn offs and junctions, a few more crossroads,
And none of those lead straight to Xanadu,
But other destinations, loads and loads,
Some ways might even lead back here, it’s true.

So, for me to tell where the roads really lead,
I’d have to list every destination,
And that would be an awful lot to read,
Trekkers would feel anger and frustration.

To tender just the simple truth is best,
For anyone who stands before me here,
Since East is East and West is always West,
The signs I offer are perfectly clear.’

Grace frowned, then nodded that she understood,
She turned to Ash to ask, ‘So, which way now?’
To the North, there lay a resplendent wood,
A different shade of green in every bough.
Ash smiled and led the way towards the trees,
Grace bade the sign goodbye and followed her,
And marvelled at the multi-coloured leaves,
In Greenbough Forest, not one branch lay bare.

Before long, they followed the road inside,
The wood was quiet and peaceful; it smelled sweet,
The forest was so fair, Grace almost cried,
She bowed her head and gazed down at her feet.

The road went round a great big looping bend,
Grace heard a small, shrill voice cry out quite near,
‘Help me!  Oh, please, have you a hand to lend?
They’ve killed my friends, and I am next, I fear!’

Grace looked up and saw an open clearing,
A few little cottages could be seen,
Then she heard horrid sniggers and jeering,
And spotted the Goblins, ugly and mean.

Grace felt quite scared of those awful creatures,
For they were clearly wicked, through and through,
With their yellow eyes and dreadful features,
Pukey green skin, sharp fangs and daggers too.

That was when Grace looked down at the ground,
And she felt very outraged and dismayed,
Murdered Elves and Sprites lay all around,
Where once they must have danced and laughed and played.
Beside the road, one old Elf stood alone,
His skin was blue; his hair was brilliant white,
He held his head and then began to moan,
The Goblins came close, filled with hate and spite.

Grace saw that the Elf was in need of aid,
She wanted to rush right into that glade,
Then she saw the mistake she almost made,
By remembering what her Grandma bade.

Words of advice Gran had told her to heed:
‘No matter what, you must stay on that Road,
For, if you stray, then you cannot succeed,
You’ll end up lost, or turned into a toad.’

Grace guessed that an illusion was at play,
Then she recalled her magic Faerie Stone,
She touched it and the village went away –
The ancient white-haired Elf stood all alone.

The old Elf looked ashamed – he’d been caught out,
‘It seems my efforts to trick you have failed,’
He said.  ‘You’re clever, Grace, there is no doubt,
Courageous too, it’s true; you never quailed.

To make amends, I’ll help you with a spell:
Sorrel, Sorrel, Sorrel, come to my aid,
For right now, things aren’t going very well,
Don’t be bitter; keep the promise you made.
Sorrel is my name, Grace; use it with care,
For I can only help you out one time,
But I will hear you calling anywhere,
Whenever you may choose to speak the rhyme.’

At that, old Sorrel vanished with a flash,
Grace turned to her companion at her side,
‘You didn’t help at all,’ she said to Ash,
Who said, ‘I can’t, Grace, I am just your Guide.’

Grace sighed and nodded, then they carried on,
To leave the wood behind, after a while,
For a grassy plain, smooth as a lawn,
That stretched all around for many a mile.

In the distance, Grace saw a bridge of stone,
Beyond that stood a solitary mound,
And in the air, she heard a dulcet tone,
Soft music gently whispered all around.

A river wound its way throughout the plain,
And very far away, Grace saw a lake,
Past that were rocky crags, a broken chain,
So grim and creepy, they made her heart quake.

The Golden Road meandered through the land,
Grace followed Ash for many a long mile,
It seemed someone had stopped time’s trickling sand,
They came close to the bridge after a while.
Ash slowed before it and came to a halt
Then turned round with concern knotting her face,
‘A Troll lives here,’ she said.  ‘His name’s Basalt,
And he will try his best to eat you, Grace.’

From underneath the bridge, Grace heard deep snores,
They rumbled like thunder right through her bones,
Much louder, they were, than a lion’s roars,
The bridge shook down to its foundation stones.

Grace was scared but recalled her Gran’s advice,
And took the iron horseshoe out of her pack,
Her head was hot; her hands were cold as ice,
But Grace carried on – she could not turn back.

She dashed across the bridge, Ash at her side,
A great big hairy arm reached from below,
It groped about – there was nowhere to hide,
Grace rapped the knuckles of her fearsome foe.

A fierce howl of pain came from underneath,
For where the horseshoe struck, the hand was burned,
It slunk away, as cowardly as a thief,
And then, back to its hiding place returned.

In heartbeats, the bridge was left far behind,
And Grace saw the road branched off to the left,
Around and round the lonesome hill it twined,
The penny dropped and Grace felt quite bereft.
A great standing stone stood atop the mound,
And Grace guessed if she made her way up there,
A passage leading straight home would be found,
The temptation to go was hard to bear.

With all her heart, Grace missed her Mam and Dad,
She longed for a few kind words and a hug,
Grace could not leave, though, that would be so bad,
And she would feel much lower than a bug.

For she, and she alone could rescue Rose,
Grace could not leave her sister to her fate,
She sniffed and rubbed her hand against her nose,
Her Mam and Dad would simply have to wait.

They passed the turn and walked on to the right,
Then Grace saw something moving on the plain,
It was four horses, beautiful and white,
They galloped past and then came back again.

The horses halted close to where Grace stood,
On three of them rode Elves with leaf-green skin,
They smiled and laughed and Grace knew they were good,
She could not help herself; she had to grin.

The riders were Faerie-ladies, so fair,
Elegant, graceful, fantastic, refined,
With shining eyes and glowing golden hair,
Bright strings of gems around their limbs were twined.
The horses were truly magnificent,
Strong, supple, with long flowing manes and tails,
Their eyes were so gentle and eloquent,
And Grace saw they wore no saddles or reins.

The music of the Mellifluous Plain,
Seemed louder and sweeter to Grace’s ears,
A horse cantered forward, tossing its mane,
And Grace felt free from all worries and fears.

The Faerie-maiden on the horse’s back,
Smiled brightly and said, ‘Glorious Grace, hello,
How are you doing, dear Grace, what’s the craic?
I should mention that my name is Willow.

Hazel and Rowan, these are my two friends,
Hello to you, Ash, also, Faithful Guide,
Our Queen, Titania, her greetings sends,
Grace, we were sent to offer you a ride.’

At that the stallion that had no rider,
Approached the Golden Road to stand by Grace,
Then got down on his knees right beside her,
She wanted to jump on his back and race.

Grace longer to ride him with all of her heart,
She longed to run her fingers through his mane,
But knew it was a trick, for she was smart,
So, Grace said, ‘No,’ although it caused her pain.
Her Gran had warned her against such a deed:
‘No matter what, you must stay on that Road,
For, if you stray, then you cannot succeed,
You’ll end up lost, or turned into a toad.’

Once more, as with Sorrel, Grace kept her head,
Which really hurt her very much inside,
She wanted to ride, but walked on instead,
Softly and quietly, little Grace cried.

She was tired of walking; her feet were sore,
It seemed to her, the Quest would never end,
Grace felt that she could not take any more,
And then the road curved round another bend.

Before her, Grace saw a marvellous sight:
Hundreds of Faeries; a great merry band,
Colour and laughter filled her with delight,
As the Good Folk danced their way across the land.

There were fanfares of trumpets, bright flags and banners,
Melodious harps, horns, flutes and deep drums,
‘Please be good,’ they sang.  ‘Please mind your manners,
For Titania, Queen of the Fair Folk comes.’

Grace felt almost breathless, as they came near,
And covered the distance in no time at all,
For she could make them out now, crystal-clear,
Many thousands of Faeries, great and small.
Kelpies and Brownies, Dwarves, Leprechauns,
Centaurs and Pixies, Naiads and Elves,
Hobbits and Satyrs and delicate Fauns,
Three lovely Sirens who sang to themselves,

Mighty Minotaurs and small wingèd Sprites,
Nymphs, Dryads, Gnomes, Griffons, Unicorns,
Faeries that sparkled with wonderful lights,
The great drums went silent, so did the horns.

Grace waited quietly, completely impressed,
The procession stopped and all singing ceased,
A maiden moved forward, gorgeously dressed,
And then it seemed a great sigh was released.

So dignified and regal was her bearing,
Grace knew the lady was the Faerie Queen,
And simply could not stop herself from staring,
The Queen’s skin was silver; her hair was sea green.

Velvet and satin and silk was her gown,
Purple and lilac, rich ripple and fold,
Upon her head there was a diamond crown,
And then Grace saw – her eyes were gleaming gold.

Grace looked in them and she felt hypnotised,
It seemed the Queen saw right into her soul,
She gazed at Grace and Grace felt quite surprised –
Her eyes were cold; she tried to take control.
A man, tall and handsome, stood by the Queen,
He was no Faerie, just a normal gent,
His hair and beard were gold; his eyes were keen,
Bright sapphire blue, warm and intelligent.

He raised a hand to Grace and gave a wink,
Then pointed at her pocket, with a nod,
The Queen stared hard; Grace found it hard to think,
Her feet moved forward, she felt like a clod.

With great concentration, Grace moved her hand,
And, in her pocket, found the Faerie Stone,
She wrapped her fingers round it and felt grand,
Grace could resist the Elf Queen on her own.

There was a sound like screeching fiddle strings,
Grace saw the Queen’s feet did not touch the ground,
She hovered; she had great translucent wings,
Up close to Grace the Elf Queen came and frowned.

‘Come to us, Child,’ her soft voice sweetly crooned,
Grace felt a tug, like someone pulled her arm,
Her head was light; she thought that she might swoon,
But with her stone, Grace fought the Faerie Charm.

‘Come, Little One,’ the Queen’s voice became cold,
And Grace was almost yanked right off her feet,
Like iron and magnets, that strong spell took hold,
Grace held her ground but she could not retreat.
‘Here!  Wilful Brat!  Now!’ the Elf Queen shouted,
And poor Grace felt an almighty big jerk,
Still, she held firm and the Elf Queen pouted,
For she knew then, her magic would not work.

‘Very well, it seems we must come to you,’
The Elf Queen laughed and floated to the road,
‘You are protected from on high, it’s true,
Come now, we shall sojourn to our abode.’

The man stepped onto the road with a smile,
Like shining stars, his blue eyes seemed to glow,
‘My name’s True Thomas, Grace, I know no guile,’
He said.  ‘You will be safe in Tir Nan Og.

That is where this great band is going to,
Their home, a palace more fair than a dream,
As delicate and fine as morning dew,
Much brighter than a summery sunbeam.

Though you can’t see it, it lies very near,
For Tir Nan Og’s invisible to most,
And there is nothing there for you to fear,
Grace, I will guard you, that’s no idle boast.

Please say you’ll come, for that would bring me joy,
It has been long since I spoke with a child,
And he was quite a silly little boy,
Called Roland – naughty, spoiled and truly wild.’
Then Thomas True took Grace by her small hand,
And they went on along the Golden Way,
Behind them trooped the happy Faerie band,
They skipped and laughed, like children at their play.

‘Sweet Grace,’ said Tom.  ‘I came here long ago,
From my hometown, a place called Erceldoune,
In Scotland, where there’s always lots of snow,
A cold hard place, as lonely as the moon.

Back then, I composed rhymes, I was a Bard,
A teller of tales and singer of songs,
To earn my crust in hall and stable yard,
I sang of heroes who righted great wrongs.

Now, Grace, there’s something you should understand,
In truth, the only things I told were lies,
I spread my falsehoods all across the land,
While those who heard them said that I was wise.

For when a mighty lord asks for a tale,
About himself and all that he has done,
He does not care for truth or fine detail,
But wants to hear that he shines like the sun.

So I was paid by fat old lazy fools,
Who treated those around them worse than slaves,
To say they governed by wise, kindly rules,
And make them out as gentlemen, not knaves.
Grace, when a man was cruel, I called him just,
An oaf was wise; a glutton was refined,
Unworthy men, I claimed, were good to trust,
The weak were strong; the mean were sweet and kind.

But, Grace, a Bard must be responsible,
For words have power – folks trust in what they’re told,
So, what I did was reprehensible:
I sold my honour in exchange for gold.

And when I sang my songs, then left a place,
The one who paid me was worse than before,
I filled their heads with nonsense, little Grace,
But in my flattery, they set great store.

So, I encouraged wickedness and spite,
Then went off on my way, without a care,
To make another evil man look right,
While those they ruled endured too much to bear.

That my great sins were not deliberate,
Was all that saved my soul from being lost,
I did not think; was inconsiderate,
I spread my lies but did not count the cost.

The folk cried out; I did not hear their cries,
I was too busy hearing my own voice,
And telling more exaggerated lies,
While casting truth aside, that was my choice.
While walking one fine day, I found a glade,
And met a maiden marvellously fair,
I did not know she was a Faerie Maid,
The Queen, in fact – I fell in love with her.

I spoke to her, La Belle Dame Sans Merci,
She turned and ran away when I came near,
I did not know why she would choose to flee,
For there was nothing that she had to fear.

I chased her; she fled swift as startled doe,
And though my horse was very swift and strong,
She made him seem like he was old and slow,
It struck me then that something was quite wrong.

No normal maid could ever run so fast,
I carried on, though, and pursued her still,
And then, it seemed that she grew tired, at last,
As we came to a solitary hill.

She circled round it and I chased behind,
The sun was setting, colourful and grand,
A great hole opened and I was struck blind,
I woke to find myself in Faerieland.

For seven years, I stayed here with the Queen,
For all that time, I could not tell one lie,
Just honest truth, and nothing in between,
But then I longed to go home, by and by.
The Queen allowed me to go on my way,
For she was confident I would return,
And venture back to Faerieland one day,
When I had learned the truths I had to learn.

I found a hill and took the passage there,
To emerge not far from my place of birth:
Erceldoune, so desolate and bare,
I did not feel that I belonged on Earth.

While seven years had passed in Faerieland,
A lot more time had gone at Erceldoune:
Near fifty years; I almost felt unmanned,
And those I spoke to thought I was a loon.

For I found I could only speak the truth:
When those who knew me asked where I had been,
I told them – in the Realm of Endless Youth,
Where I lived with the lovely Faerie Queen.

They laughed and jeered and said I was quite mad,
And then demanded that I tell no lie,
I told the truth – and things got very bad,
They beat me, Grace; I thought that I would die.

I fled my home and ran for miles and miles,
And all I met, I told my far-fetched tale,
Some answered that with patronising smiles,
They thought me mad in every glen and dale.
And then I came upon a Baron’s hall,
He was a vain man; such a pompous ass,
When I arrived, a grand and sumptuous ball,
Was taking place, the rich were there en masse.

Proud lords and ladies – self-important folk,
I took the stage and played upon my lyre,
At first, they thought what I sang was a joke,
But what I had to tell them burned like fire.

For truth’s a thing that many cannot face,
Sweet lies are pretty; honesty is not,
Inside, these folk were very ugly, Grace,
There was not one good soul among the lot.

I sang of them exactly as they were,
And when I did that, no one was amused,
They broke my lyre and stripped me nearly bare,
Then beat and whipped me, Grace, I was abused.

They punished me for all that they were worth,
I fled; of my own folk, I’d had my fill,
It seemed there was no place for me on Earth,
I roamed until I found a Faerie Hill.

My love, the Elf Queen, waited there for me,
She healed my wounds and kissed my tearful face,
I knew then – joined with her, I could be free,
She brought me back to this enchanted place.
Now, Grace, of your brave Quest, I have been told,
And I would like to tell your tale, some time,
To do so would mean more to me than gold,
Grace, can I put your Faerie Tale to rhyme?’

Grace blushed – she felt embarrassed, but quite proud,
She nodded and gave True Tom’s hand a squeeze,
Then said, ‘Oh, yes, Tom, that could be allowed,
Just wait until my Quest is over, please.’

‘Grace, I’ll repay with words so wise and true:
Accept no gift, when we reach Tir Nan Og,
Don’t eat or drink what may be offered you,
And ask for nothing or you’ll come to woe.’

Grace nodded; then she saw a wondrous sight,
A palace was created just ahead,
Appearing, brick by brick; Grace felt delight,
She thought she dreamed, but she was not in bed.

The castle was a wonder to behold,
It sparkled with ten million precious stones,
An intricate confection wrought in gold,
And precious metals of a dozen tones.

Tall towers and turrets stretched for the sky,
Bright stained glass windows twinkled everywhere,
Grace felt enraptured, her heart soared so high,
She was inspired, amazed; Grace walked on air.
Great golden gates swung open with no sound,
Grace passed on through beside True Tom the Bard,
She gazed at many marvels all around,
And walked across a wonderful courtyard.

The stones beneath her feet were smoothest jade,
And yet, she did not trip or slip or slide,
They came upon a lovely sylvan glade,
A leafy bower, then they went inside.

Grace wandered round and gasped at all she saw,
The tree trunks were ruby, with emerald leaves,
Bright gold and silver fruit filled her with awe,
She felt the magic under those broad eaves.

Then all the merry Faerie Folk trooped in,
The Elf Queen waved her hand round in the air,
For just a blink, the whole glade seemed to spin,
And then, Grace gasped and could not help but stare.

A table stood, where none had been before,
Long and broad, it almost filled the clearing,
With marble benches round it on the floor,
The Folk were pleased; there was joyful cheering.

When Grace saw what the table bore, she moaned,
A surge of pleasure rushed right through her core,
The table was so laden down it groaned,
With all good things she loved to eat, and more.
Heaps of delicious desserts piled up high:
Chocolate éclairs, trifles, cream and iced cakes,
Black Forest Gateau, lemon meringue pie,
Crumble and custard, great mountains and lakes.

Meringues, pavlova, mousse, profiteroles,
Strawberry shortcake, yoghurt, Christmas pudd,
Blancmanges and whipped cream in gigantic bowls,
Rice pudding, apple tarts, lots of good food.

Sherbet, candyfloss, fudge, treacle, honey,
Caramels, nougat and Turkish delight,
Liquorice, gumdrops, fizzbombs and toffee,
Fondants, truffles, chocolate – milk, dark and white,

Thousands of multi-coloured lollipops,
Gobstoppers, peppermints and bubblegum,
Brandy balls and every flavour of drops,
Pear, lemon, chocolate, pineapple and plum.

Ice cream – dozens of varieties:
Neapolitan, strawberry swirl,
Baked Alaska, Knickerbocker Glories,
So many, Grace’s head was all-awhirl.

Raspberry ripple and banana split,
Vanilla, mint-choc chip, raisin ‘n’ rum,
Great towering mounds that never seemed to quit,
Grace heard a rumble deep down in her tum.
Apricots, melons, dates and bananas,
Nectarines, oranges, apples and grapes,
Big yellow grapefruit and tiny sultanas,
Heaps of fresh fruit in all colours and shapes.

Blackcurrants, raisins, damsons and cherries,
Kiwis, satsumas, pears, tangerines, dates,
And berries – straw, black, blue, rasp, gooseberries,
Hundreds and thousands piled up high on plates.

Currants, pineapples, plums, peaches and limes,
Passion fruit, pomegranates, mandarins,
Quinces and lemons and sweet clementines,
So ripe and juicy they near burst their skins.

There were mountains of nuts, all out of the shell,
Peanuts, walnuts, cashews and pistachios,
Hazelnuts, pecans, coconuts as well,
Cut right in two, their insides to expose.

Cookies, crisps, shortbread, scones, biscuits and buns,
With lots of jars of jam and marmalade,
Great pitchers and wooden barrels and tuns,
Were filled up with fruit juice and lemonade.

The Faerie Folk sat down at the table,
Grace saw that for manners they did not care,
They gobbled as quick as they were able,
As they did, food and drink flew everywhere.
Grace took a seat and reached out for a pear,
She lifted it and almost took a bite,
The Faeries had all stopped eating to stare,
Grace had a thought and she was filled with fright.

To eat and drink nothing in Faerieland,
True Tom and her Grandma had warned her well,
Grace gripped her Faerie Stone tight in her hand,
And knew then – the feast was another spell.

The sumptuous food and drink vanished like smoke,
And in its place were heaps of leaves and sticks,
Plain water was in the cups of the Folk –
Just another one of the Faeries’ tricks.

Grace was getting tired of these games, she sighed,
Hungry and thirsty, she felt very low,
With her head in her hands, she almost cried,
Then, beside her, a small voice said, ‘Hello.’

Grace turned to see a funny little chap,
He was smaller than her and plumper too,
His skin was brown; on his head was a cap,
Like the rest of his clothes, it was bright blue.

He smiled and said, ‘Grace, I’m Bluecap the Gnome,
Like all the Good Folk, dear, I know your craic,
How your Quest has taken you far from home,
But tell me, what have you there, in your pack?’
His dark brown eyes were as bright as a bird’s,
It came to Grace that he already knew,
The answer to what he had asked with his words,
For she had forgotten herself, it’s true.

Grace took off her backpack and reached within,
For what her Gran had given her to eat,
Grace thanked little Bluecap with a grin,
He looked embarrassed and squirmed in his seat.

Grace had manners, so she knew how to share,
‘Bluecap,’ she said.  ‘Would you like some of my food?’
He bowed his head, ‘I don’t know if I dare,’
Then looked up and smiled, ‘Some bread would be good.’

Grace gave him a sandwich, a cookie too,
He gobbled them up and said, ‘Thank you, dear,
Now I’m obliged to give a gift to you,
You have only to ask and it will appear.’

Grace thought of all the things that she could use,
To help her on her Quest to rescue Rose,
But then she saw – the offer was a ruse,
Whatever she got would add to her woes.

She recalled her Gran’s advice in a blink:
Grace, take no gift the Faeries offer you,
And, if you’re tempted, you must stop and think,
For there’s always a price to pay, it’s true.
So, Grace demurred, ‘There’s nothing that I need,’
And Bluecap praised her, ‘Grace, that’s truly wise,
To seek more than your lot is only greed,
Such avarice, we Faerie Folk despise.’

The Faerie Queen stood up then, proud and tall,
Her voice rang out, so very clear and strong,
Resounding like fair music through the hall,
‘Dear Thomas, will you grace us with a song?’

Then Thomas the Rhymer rose to his feet,
And in his hands there was a six-stringed lyre,
The notes rippled out, delightfully sweet,
He sang, more melodious than a choir.

‘The Sorrowful Song of the Sun and the Moon,
Is old as the hills and fresh as the dew,
As music is my gift, this is a boon,
Dedicated, Glorious Grace, to you.

Long, long ago and very far away,
Helios, the Golden Lord of Sunshine,
Espied a lovely maiden, one fine day,
And he swore to himself – She will be mine.

Silver Maid of the Moon; Phoebe was her name,
So pale and slender, delicate and shy,
Helios approached her; he had no shame,
‘Love me, my Queen,’ he said.  ‘Or I must die.’
Phoebe was overwhelmed by his passion,
The Sun Lord’s fieriness made her afraid,
‘You believe in love, after your fashion,’
Said she.  ‘But fire can’t last, flames always fade.’

‘I want, I need you to be mine forever,’
He cried and roughly grabbed her tender arm,
Phoebe pulled away; she whispered, ‘Never!
My Lord, your love would only do me harm.’

He snatched at her again; she turned and fled,
She ran as swift as wind across the plain,
He roared with fury, all he saw was red,
His heart was broken, his soul burned with pain.

He chased her; she ran for all she was worth,
He did not catch her, but he did not tire,
His bright flames scorched the hills, the trees, the earth,
The land was devastated by his fire.

Phoebe was saddened by his destruction,
She reached her home; on her tail, he was hot,
She gave her servants a crucial instruction –
To build for her a silver chariot.

She was gone before Helios came near,
To tall Mount Parnassus, Phoebe ran,
And by a little stream that sparkled clear,
She found the nine Muses and told them her plan.
The Artful Sisters agreed to help her,
Each surrendered her wondrous wingèd horse,
Phoebe mounted a Pegasus, then and there,
And back towards her home, they set a course.

The marvellous herd flew across the sky,
They passed over Helios, far below,
He leapt to grab them, but they were too high,
He ran to catch them, but he was too slow.

At home, her chariot was completed,
A marvellous vehicle, bright as a star,
Helios approached, the air was heated,
The Pegasi were hitched to the shining car.

They flew North – Mount Olympus was their goal,
For Zeus, the Father of the World, lived there,
Phoebe knew Helios was out of control,
With Zeus’s help, she might escape his snare.

They came to Olympus; Great Zeus took heed,
He saw the annihilation being wrought,
With wantonness and terrifying speed,
By the Sun Lord’s great passion that blazed too hot.

Phoebe had a solution to the problem –
She asked Great Zeus to bless her Pegasi,
So tiredness would never come upon them,
And they could fly forever through the sky.
Zeus nodded and did as Phoebe desired,
To silver, the wingèd horses were turned,
Then Phoebe described what else was required,
To save the entire World from being burned:

A gold chariot for the Lord of the Sun,
A fiery Phoenix to pull it through the sky,
Zeus used his powers and soon it was done,
Phoebe thanked him and set off, up on high.

Mere moments later, Helios arrived,
He roared and raged, ‘Zeus, I’m not playing games,
Of Phoebe’s love, I shall not be deprived,’
Zeus smiled and told him, ‘Hot One, cool your flames.

To capture her, I grant you now the means,
This Phoenix, and this chariot of gold,
So let’s not have any more of your scenes,
She’s up there, you can catch her, if you’re bold!’

Helios laughed and set off right away,
Forevermore, their race went on above,
Around the globe, he chased her, night and day,
The Sun and the Moon’s unrequited love.’

Tom stopped singing; the hall was deathly still,
The Elf Queen scowled, ‘You dared to sing that here?
We know no sun or moon and never will,
You have offended every Faerie ear.’
‘The song was not for you,’ True Thomas said,
‘But for the Mortal Child, our welcome guest,
So, do not heap your scorn upon my head,
Has she not passed your every cunning test?’

The Elf Queen’s eyes flashed, for she was enraged,
For one moment, Grace saw a fearsome sight,
The Faerie Queen’s beauty withered and aged,
She looked like a Bean Sidhe, a terrible Wight.

Then, her face changed, she was lovely again,
She said, ‘It’s time to bid our guest farewell,
For time flies by and all would be in vain,
Were she too late to break the Darkling spell.’

The Elf Queen went out into the courtyard,
And all the Faerie Folk followed after,
Grace walked with Ash, her Guide, and Tom the Bard,
All around rang merriment and laughter.

The fairest creature Grace had ever seen,
Stood in the yard – a silver Unicorn,
His mane and tail were gold; his eyes were green,
Of gleaming mother-of-pearl was his horn.

‘A gift for you, dear Grace,’ the Elf Queen said,
‘To speed you on your way and aid your Quest,’
Poor Grace’s heart felt like a lump of lead –
She knew this was another Faerie test.
The beautiful Unicorn looked at her,
Grace wanted to climb on his back so much,
She felt so unhappy; it was unfair,
To look was fine; Grace knew she could not touch.

She could not take the gift; it was a trap,
So, Grace demurred, which almost broke her heart,
A small voice spoke – she saw it was Bluecap,
‘Argent, you can be hers; you have the art.’

The face of the Elf Queen went red with rage,
But Thomas nodded and gave Grace a wink,
‘Though I am not a wise man or a sage,
Argent can give himself to Grace, I think.’

At last, the Elf Queen decided to speak,
‘We are far from amused by this event,
Argent, if it is a mistress you seek,
I beg, choose me instead of Grace, Argent.’

The Unicorn’s big luminous eyes shone,
And then, to Grace’s great surprise, he spoke,
‘Great Queen, my love for you goes on and on,
But I choose Grace before all Faerie Folk!’

Argent knelt down and Grace shouted with glee,
She jumped on his back and felt warm inside,
His heart throbbed with love for her, totally,
Grace felt so cherished that she nearly cried.

(To be concluded...)