I have maintained for a long time that, where once we might have sought out the Fae in unusual formations of rocks, plants, or trees and even in the water pools and swirls on a riverbank, now we feel the traces of the urban Fae in the artwork scrawled in underpasses and dark alleys. They lurk just on the edge of our vision and inspire those of us who are sensitive and, for time immemorial, the artists and revolutionaries among us who have been known for their visionary abilities.
~ Urban Faery Magick – Tara Sanchez
Often places of power will jump out at you, the rocks can, and do actually howl in their otherness.
Of course the rationalists1 of the world will tell you that rocks humming are just a fluke of geology, the right type of rock, and the right meteorological conditions on a certain day culminating in the rocks vibrating at a frequency that is audible to the human ear. This is all undoubtedly true, but it cannot take away the fact that some places will inspire awe, others will not. The differentiator for me is whether I think “Oh that’s cool” or if it inspires a story, a tale to be told, if you are a rationalist you might say it inspires a flight of fancy.
This is a flight of fancy that came to me whilst walking in the Lake District, as I made my way up Buttermere Fell along Scarth Gap Pass heading towards Haystacks. There is a large rock outcropping which moaned loudly enough that it was audible for some considerable time and the closer I got the more inspired I became.
The Hall of the Fairy King
Sometimes persistent sound can be as exhausting as physical labour. It can wear you down, leaving you distracted and trembling. It can make you turn away from even the most longed for goals. Even ones that you’ve set mind, body and soul to achieve. So hill walking in foul weather can be as much a mental task as anything else, the wind can howl almost deafening you, making you want to turn back long before the rain soaks you and chills you to the bone. Despite this the couple climbed steadily, it was cold, it was wet and the steep path was slippery underfoot, but they were enthralled by the idea of reaching the summit. The woman stopped for a moment, her face screwed up in concentration, head cocked slightly to one side as if listening to something more than the wind ripping at the hood of her jacket.
“Do you hear that? It was a struggle to lift her voice above the noise now.
The man turned round, face wrinkling as another gust of wind blasted more rain directly at him. “Is it an aeroplane?”
“I don’t think so! It sounds like the rocks over there vibrating”.
“Don’t be daft, rocks don’t vibrate.”
“Well I think they do, I’ve been hearing it for a while. I thought at first it might be an aeroplane too, or helicopter coming over the hill but it’s never appeared and nobody flies helicopters in this weather surely.”
They stood still together for a moment curious, listening for a little while longer before the man spoke again.
“I suppose the next thing you’re going tell me is that it’s fairies”.
Gleefully the woman turned and smiled.
“Of course! it’s always fairies, and this is the hall of the fairy King only those that can hear the hum can find the secret entrance. You have to have fae blood to hear the noise. You must be part fairy too.”
She grinned wickedly. The wind whipped around her, the rain drove a bit harder, sodden tendrils of hair stuck to her face. Wiping them away with a dripping hand she made a deep flourishing bow towards the rocks.
“How goes it FAIR ones? Thank you for your favour and passage through this realm.”
With a deep breath she nodded once, as if agreeing with some inaudible speaker before she turned and carried on walking up the hill. Intent once again upon her climb. Her companion snorted, shaking his head before following along.
Somewhere deep inside the mountain there was a clunk, followed by a distant rumble, as if a large doorway had opened. There was no machinery to see, no gears or levers moving, so whilst the noise was in essence mechanical there was also something otherworldly, eery about the sound. This was no ordinary, man-made doorway, it was an opening between one place and another. Hearing the rumble the fairy king settled back into his throne and smiled a grim determined smile.
“Finally, even after millennia we still haven’t totally been forgotten. The old blood lines still surprise us by manifesting every few generations. Maybe, just maybe this time there is hope.”
After a moment he leant forward again to stare intently into the silver pool in front of him. “Ahhh yes, there she is”, he flicked his wrist and the wind on the hillside died down.
Has the otherness of a place ever inspired you?
I use the term rationalist over the term realist because in my opinion what is real is subjective. People who would seek to explain the wonders of the world away, rationalise the situation so it is a much better term. ↩︎
