Shadows of Sherwood (20 page)

“Are you kidding?” he joked. “That braid is so tight you could bounce a quarter off it. How do you even make that thing?”

Robyn's joking mood slipped right off her shoulders. “My father taught me,” she said softly. “There's really nothing else to do with so much hair. Apparently all the women on Dad's side of the family have . . .” Robyn's throat tightened.

Key kept his arm around her. But gently now. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn't know.”

They walked in silence for a minute. “I don't know why I got so upset,” Robyn said. “It's just a silly hairdo,” she finished. But as she said it, she realized it wasn't. It was something more.

Follow your head. Follow your heart. Follow the moon
, her father had written.
I'm sorry I can't say more.

Follow your head.
Suddenly Robyn suspected the braid wasn't silly at all.

 

CHAPTER THIRTY

Wisdom of the Ancients, Party of One

Robyn grasped Key's arm. “We have to get back to the market,” she said. “There's someone I need to talk to.”

“The former market,” Key said. “Remember?”

“But the regular shops along the street should still be open, right?”

They ambled down the Cannonway, keeping a casual pace. Arm in arm like this, they probably resembled a young couple out for a stroll, so Robyn fought the urge to race along the sidewalk. It was better to remain calm. With her hair hidden under the beret, she blended into the neighborhood quite well.

Robyn approached the braiding salon with trepidation.

“Are you sure about this?” Key asked, noting her hesitation.

“I think so,” she answered. “I think I'm supposed to follow the braid.”

“Follow the braid?” Key echoed. “What does that mean?”

“We're about to find out.” Robyn spoke confidently, despite her nervousness, as she pushed through the door of the salon.

The shop was full of energetic women, chatting and braiding and shampooing and blow drying. Key took one look around and said, “Maybe I should wait outside.”

“That's fine,” Robyn said, and he retreated gratefully.

Robyn stood alone in the entryway, unsure how to proceed. She'd been in a hair salon exactly twice before, both times with Mom. She recognized the cutting stations, and the mirrors, and the reclined chairs for hair washing, and the big domed dryers. Everyone seemed busy.

She approached the desk near the door and stood patiently. A young stylist stepped away from her station and came up behind the desk. Her head was covered by an expansive crown of twisted locks. “How can we help you?” she said. “Braids, twists, a little bit of color, maybe?” She tilted her head as if the new angle would allow her to see beneath Robyn's beret.

Robyn took another quick scan of the room. The old woman with the braid didn't seem to be there. “Um, actually I'm looking for someone. I don't know her name, but she's very old with very long hair, and she wears it like this.” Robyn tugged off her beret.

The young stylist's face flashed with recognition. “Yes. I'm afraid she's not here.”

“Do you know where I can find her? It's very important.”

The young stylist frowned. “Mom,” she called, addressing one of the older stylists, who left her station and approached them. “Do you want to come talk to this girl? She's . . . ,” but her voice trailed off as the elder woman Robyn was looking for emerged from a doorway at the back of the store.

She wore a long, thin dress of white that covered her so that as she moved, she seemed to glide.

“Nana, you're supposed to be resting,” said the young stylist.

“I sensed something,” the elder woman said as she approached Robyn and clasped the girl's face between gentle hands. “I have been expecting a girl to visit,” she murmured. “But you cannot possibly be the child of my vision.”

“I—” Robyn started to explain, but the woman referred to as Nana held up a hand.

“This is not the place. Come with me.” The old woman lifted her massive braid and wrapped it around her waist like a belt. Robyn followed. Key perked up as they exited the shop. He glanced from her to the elder woman and back. Robyn shrugged and motioned for him to wait.

The old woman led Robyn through a nondescript doorway between the salon and the shoe store next door. A narrow hallway led to a flight of stairs. As they climbed, Robyn stared at the thick gray braid and refrained from asking the very rude questions that came to mind—such as, how did she manage to wash all that hair, let alone comb and braid it? It was truly gorgeous, but Robyn couldn't imagine actually dealing with it.

The braid woman let them into a second-floor apartment. The single room was very clean and only sparsely decorated.
A narrow bed draped in white linen, two armchairs, a lamp stand, and two chairs around a small dining table made up all the furniture. The room was extremely ordinary, except for a massive skylight in the ceiling, positioned directly over the bed. Late afternoon light poured in, showering the sheets in a warm golden glow.

The woman closed the door behind them and motioned for Robyn to turn. Her tone became sharp: “Who did your hair like this?”

“I did it myself.”

“You lie.”

Robyn faced the woman, remaining silent.

The woman perused her with a clear-eyed gaze. “It cannot be. You're much too young.”

“Too young for what?” Robyn said.

“Why have you come to me? Why now, when the pressure on all of us is so great?”

Robyn tried to conceal her confusion. “It's—I had to—well, I'm in a bit of trouble, to be honest.”

“Tell me your name, child.”

Robyn thought about taking Key's advice, but it didn't feel right. “I'm Robyn.”

The old woman's entire face softened and widened. “My name is Eveline,” she said, in a tone that was suddenly very pleasant. “What does this mean to you?”

Robyn bounced the name around her brain, then shook her head. “Nothing. I'm sorry. Does my name mean something to you?”

Eveline smiled. Her eyes appeared to dance. With a flat hand, she invited Robyn to sit in the armchairs. They sat across from each other.

“Show me your pendant, child.”

“Pendant?” Robyn asked, nervous again. How did the woman know?

“We are each of us nothing but blood, breath, and bone,” Eveline said.

“Um . . .” The refrain, though confusing, was growing quite familiar. “What does that mean?”

“One cannot exist without the others. One cannot survive without others.”

Well that was helpful
, Robyn thought.

Eveline smiled as though Robyn had spoken her thought aloud. “If a small flame is burning, how do you put it out?” Eveline asked.

“Why do you want to put it out?” Robyn asked in return.

The old woman's gaze sharpened. “Fire is quite dangerous, don't you think?”

Mom loved campfires. They used to light them in the backyard all summer long. “Not necessarily. You can use fire for light. For warmth. For cooking. For fuel.”

“Remarkable,” Eveline murmured.

“What is?” Robyn asked.

“Ask your friends the same question. They will help you understand.” Eveline extended one wrinkled palm. “You touch your chest too often. I know the pendant is there. Take it off your neck and hand it to me.”

Robyn was not about to part from her father's precious gift. She pulled it out of her shirt and moved to the edge of her seat, leaning the necklace forward in her palm. “Can't you see it from there?”

“My eyes are not so good anymore.”

Robyn hesitated.

“If you are to succeed in this journey, you will be required to trust.” Eveline held out her hand. “It will be back where it belongs in a moment.”

“You mean, you'll give it back to me in a minute?” Robyn clarified.

The old woman laughed—a light bursting tinkle of sound that filled Robyn with unexpected hope. “You are clever enough, indeed. You may end up doing just fine.”

Robyn laid the pendant in Eveline's palm. The old woman turned it over and examined it closely. “Black moonstone,” she said. “Blessed by the ancients. Incredibly precious.”

“Okay,” Robyn said.

“If you are to be the one of my vision,” Eveline said. “You will need to know two things: this stone was once part of a very special key. But the door it opens . . . common wisdom suggests it no longer exists.”

Great. That sound helpful.

“The lessons of the moon lore will guide you, if you let them.”

Robyn gulped. She didn't remember the moon lore. It had always seemed like old, boring riddles and stories. “What's the second thing?” Robyn asked.

“There is a storeroom directly below us. Something to be found there will help you. Take whatever you need.”

Now we're talking
, Robyn thought. “Thanks.” Feeling bold, she added, “Um, so, the whole moon lore thing . . . can you remind me how that goes?”

“For a moon child, you know so little,” the old woman lamented. “There is much to be learned.” She picked up a pen and scrap of paper from the lamp table and scrawled something on it.

“Moon child?” Robyn asked. “What does that mean?”

Eveline sighed. “The nature of such a destiny is for it to be uncovered,” she said, folding the note and handing it to Robyn. “I cannot give you the answers, any more than I can tell you what has happened to your parents.”

“How—how did you know about them?” Robyn was sure she had said nothing related to her parents' disappearance.

The old woman tipped her head back, raising her face toward the skylight glow. She closed her eyes and drew two slow, deep breaths. “The hope of the ancients is still alive,” she told Robyn. “With every breath, I feel them. Your search is not in vain.”

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Library Books: 398.26 ML

Robyn darted down the stairs and stuck her head out the door. “Key,” she called, motioning him inside. He pushed off the side of the building and came toward her. Robyn glanced at the old woman's note. All she had written was a strange series of numbers: