Wayfarer (17 page)

The remaining raven flapped down onto the path, folded its wings—and became another male faery, like a slightly flawed copy of the first. He flexed his stiff arm and winced, then slapped his brother on the shoulder and broke into a grin. “Good hunting, Corbin.”

“The hunt is not over yet,” said the taller Blackwing, his eyes still on Timothy. “The little rebel escaped—but in that small form, she cannot fly far. We will take her soon enough.”

“How did you…find us?” gasped Timothy. The
Blackwings didn't know about the Children of Rhys; if he kept them talking long enough, then Linden might be able to fly to one of the magical islands, out of their reach. “Thought we'd thrown you off the scent.”

“We track by magic, not some human stench,” said Corbin with contempt. “With a hair from the girl's head in our possession, all we needed to catch you was patience and time.” Then he leaned down and said softly, “But where, I wonder, were you headed? And what did you hope to find there?”

Timothy faked a fit of coughing, buying himself a few precious seconds to think. “We were looking for some…magical plants. They're…supposed to grow around here. Because Linden's Queen…she's dying.”

Corbin made a scornful noise. “And for this you chose to throw in your lot with the Forsaken, and risk your very life? Only a fool would believe such a tale.”

“She promised me…gold…if I helped,” Timothy wheezed. “As much as I wanted.”

Behind them, the injured Blackwing laughed. “Gold! Say rather a handful of acorns and a few withered leaves, for that is all you would have in the end.”

“Indeed,” said Corbin, and the pressure on Timothy's chest eased a little. “And where is your faery companion now? Flying away from you as fast as her wings will carry her. So much for your hopes of reward.” He stepped back, nodding at his brother. “Byrne, guard him. I will catch the
girl.” And with that he shifted back into raven form and flapped off down the hillside.

Until then Timothy had lain limp on the rocky ground, offering no resistance. But all the while he and Corbin were talking, he'd been inching his fingers toward his pocket. Now he risked everything on a sudden snatch at the key—

—but he'd only just pulled it out when Byrne kicked his elbow, and the key went flying. As Timothy's only weapon clattered against the rocks and tumbled out of sight, the faery grabbed him and wrenched him to his feet.

“That was foolish, boy,” he breathed, his dark eyes gleaming. “Very foolish.” He hooked his fingers, and Timothy jerked back—

“Let him go!” shrilled Linden's voice from behind them, and the male faery whirled, his grip on Timothy loosening. Timothy's ankle still throbbed and his side felt as though it were splitting open, but he planted his feet and shoved Byrne as hard as he could.

The Blackwing swayed, lost his footing, and toppled down the hillside. “Come on!” Linden shouted at Timothy, and he lurched after her, mouthing
ow
with every step.

From somewhere behind him came a raven's croaking call, then an answering cry from the far side of the hill. But Linden darted straight toward the ocean, and Timothy forced himself to ignore the pain and just run, run, run down the lessening slope until at last the pebbles and dry
scrub gave way to green grass, and he could see the waves smashing against the rocks far below.

“What do I do now?” he yelled at Linden, as the frigid sea wind whipped his hair into his eyes. “I can't fly!”

“This way!” she shouted back, pointing to a narrow trail that slanted down from the cliff's edge. At its foot lay a smudge of sandy beach, a scant half-moon of a cove, where two tall stones stuck out of the water like the ruins of some ancient Roman gate. “Can't you feel it? It's magic!”

So this was where Linden had gone, when the Blackwings thought she'd deserted him. She could have flown straight to the Children of Rhys for help, but instead she'd scouted out this cove, and then returned to the hillside to rescue Timothy and bring him there. As plans went it was noble, impractical, and built mostly on faith—in short, just like her.

But all these thoughts flashed through his mind in an instant, as Timothy scrambled onto the trail and began to pick his way downward as fast as he could go. Still, between his twisted ankle and his bleeding side he had a hard time of it, and he knew that at any second the ravens would swoop down upon him…

“Where are they?” demanded Byrne's voice from the top of the cliff.

Timothy froze.

“They cannot have vanished into the air,” replied Corbin's cooler tones. “No doubt the girl has merely cast a glamour to throw us off their trail. But the finding spell
will—” He stopped, and when he spoke again his voice was flat: “Impossible.”

“You can't find them? Let me try.” A pause, and then: “Her magic must be stronger than we thought. But the boy will still have footprints and a scent, no matter what glamour she puts on him. You fly that way, I'll go back around the hill….”

Flattened against the cliff face, Timothy listened in disbelief as the sound of the Blackwings' voices faded away. They'd tracked him and Linden all the way out here, only to lose them at the last moment—but how?

Linden was waiting for him at the bottom of the path, human size once more. The waves washed foam around her feet, and the breeze lifted her brown curls in all directions. “Look up!” she called excitedly. “Look at the sky!”

Timothy shot a wary glance upward—and saw only empty, cloudless blue. Even the wind that had been tugging at his jacket had subsided, and there was no sign of the Blackwings anywhere.

“The glamour around this cove is incredibly strong,” Linden said. “I don't think the Blackwings could even see it—or us either, once we'd started down here. We must be very close to the Children of Rhys.”

Legs wobbly with the effort of clambering down the path, Timothy edged the last few feet and stumbled onto the sand beside her. He dusted the grit and lichen off his hands, then straightened up and looked out at the sea.
The mist over the ocean had cleared, and the sun shone summer bright; he had a perfect view of the first of the magical islands, framed between the two ancient stones that rose up from the water. But it was still just as far away as ever—and they had no boat.

“What now?” he said.

Linden gazed out at the island, and her expression became distant. She raised her hand and touched her ear, cupping her palm against her cheek as they had seen Martin do on the train. “Children of Rhys,” she said. “We have come a long way to seek your help. Please, speak to us.”

Long seconds passed, but the only sound was the waves crashing into the nearby cliffs. Linden's face creased with disappointment, and she let her hand fall. “I really thought,” she began—but before she could finish the sentence the air between the standing stones shimmered, and a little boat slid out of nothingness to glide across the waves toward them. It drew up on the beach at Linden's feet, empty and waiting.

“You have called the
Plant Rhys Ddwfn,
” said a melodious Welsh-accented voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere: It could have been a man's light tenor or a woman's contralto, it was impossible to tell. “And we have answered. But we cannot allow strangers to set foot upon our islands unless we are certain that they are trustworthy. Will you turn away, or seek to pass the test?”

As a child in Sunday School, Timothy had tried to imagine how the “still, small voice” of God had sounded when the prophet Elijah heard it in the wilderness. Now he felt as though he knew. “What test?” he asked, and the words sounded impossibly loud and coarse in his own ears.

“The questions are these,” came the reply. “Do you honor the wishes of your ancestors, and obey those who have rule over you? Are you honest in all your dealings, forsaking treachery or deceitfulness? Are your hands clean of violence, and your heart free of envy and selfish ambition? If so, you are welcome among us. If not, you must forbear.”

Timothy was taken aback. He had been expecting some test of skill or intelligence, not a boiled-down version of the Ten Commandments. There was no way he could answer all of those questions honestly and still hope to win the Children of Rhys's approval—but if he lied to them, would they know?

“I honor my foster mothers and my Queen,” said Linden. Her voice shook a little, but her expression was resolute. “Though I have not always obeyed them perfectly. I have kept my bargains with my neighbors and not deceived them. I have harmed no one, and I come to you not for my own sake, but for the sake of my people.”

There was a pause, and then the voice said, “You may come.”

Linden relaxed, and broke into a smile. She stepped into the little boat and sat down.

“Speak, human,” said the voice.

Timothy licked his dry lips, not knowing what to say. He remembered the stunned look on Luke Barfield's round face when he realized that Timothy had just hit him. He thought of how he'd lied to the dean by writing that fake email to his parents, not wanting to admit to what he'd really done, or why. He'd yelled at Peri when she was just trying to protect the Oakenfolk, tried to bully Linden into using glamour against her conscience, resented the Jenkinses' hospitality even as he'd stuffed his face with their food and slept in the bed they'd made up for him….

He said roughly to Linden, “You go on. I'll wait here.”

“The tide is rising,” said the disembodied voice. “You cannot remain in this place. If you will not answer our questions, then you must return the way you came, and there meet whatever fate awaits you.”

Meaning the Blackwing brothers. Timothy swallowed and said, “I can't pass your test. I've lied—and dishonored my parents—and hit people who didn't deserve it. So I guess…” He looked back at the cliffside trail, and sickness burned the back of his throat. “I'll have to leave.”

“Wait!” Linden scrambled out of the boat and ran to Timothy, catching his arm before he could turn away. She spoke urgently to the air: “He's told you the truth, about the things he's done. But he's also been loyal and kind and brave. And now he's willing to go back up there all alone and surrender himself to our enemies for my sake—doesn't that count for something, too?”

There was a lengthy pause, filled only by the murmur of the wind and waves. Linden tightened her grip on Timothy, afraid that she had offended the Children and that now they would both be turned away. But at last the voice spoke again:

“Human, by your own admission you have violated the
laws of our forefather Rhys. But for the sake of your faery companion, we will let you pass—if you repent of your wrongdoing, and pledge to be honest and true hereafter. Do you so promise?”

Timothy looked stunned, and for several long seconds he didn't speak. But at last he said hoarsely, “I'll try.”

“Then you may come.”

Hesitantly Timothy followed Linden to the boat and climbed in. It slipped back into the water as though pushed by some invisible hand, and soon they were bobbing across the waves toward the pillared gate.

Linden had never been in a boat before, and the sensation delighted her. The ocean breeze fluttered her hair, and cold spray washed her face as she leaned forward, gaze fixed eagerly on the island ahead. The boat crested a wave, rocked downward as it passed between the two stones—and then in a flash they came aground again, white sand furrowing up on both sides of the boat as it glided onto an unfamiliar shore.

“In the name of Rhys Ddwfn I greet you,” said a voice that sounded familiar, but now unmistakably male. “I am Garan ap Gwylan.”

Linden clasped her head, still dizzy with the sudden shift from the cove to the island. Then her vision cleared and she saw him: a male faery considerably bigger than her fellow Oakenfolk but barely half as tall as Timothy—about the height of a human child. His hair was the color of peeled willow, held back from his forehead by a circlet
of twisted gold and falling loose and straight to his shoulders. But there was nothing childlike or feminine about the clean, proud bones of his face, or the muscles of his bare arms as he stretched out his hand to help Linden from her seat.

“Come with me,” he said. “I will take you to meet the Elders of my people.”

Ever since the Children of Rhys had given their verdict, Timothy had been silent, his eyes downcast, but now he flicked a half smile at Linden and nodded for her to go ahead. She took Garan's hand and climbed out; Timothy followed, and the three of them set off down the beach together.

“Was it you who spoke to us, back there?” she asked Garan. It felt somehow rude to be addressing the top of his head, so she shrank back to Oakenfolk size and flew alongside him.

“I spoke with my people's voice and not my own,” he said, “but yes, it was my turn as Speaker. I have waited many years for this day.” He gave her a sidelong glance with his sea-colored eyes. “May I ask what you are called, so that I may introduce you to the Elders?”

“I'm Linden,” she said. She waited for Timothy to speak, but he didn't, so she went on, “And my human friend is Timothy.”

“It is an honor to meet you,” said Garan, making them both a short bow with his hand to his heart. “Never in my
lifetime have strangers come to our island. What news do you bring to us from the outside world?”

His gaze held a keen, almost hungry interest, and Linden felt suddenly self-conscious. “It's a long story,” she said. “Perhaps we should save it for the Elders.”

“As you wish it,” Garan said, but he looked disappointed. “Tell me,” he added after a pause, “do you find that small form comfortable? It gives me no offense if you prefer human shape; I am told that many of our people on the mainland do. I choose it myself, from time to time,” and in a blink he made himself as tall as Timothy, striding a few long paces across the sand before dropping back to his former height.

“Actually, this is my natural size,” said Linden, a little defensively. Did no other faeries look like the Oakenfolk anymore? Veronica had appeared startled and even disgusted that she would make herself so small, and now Garan seemed to think it strange, too….

Garan laughed. “How can that be? You are a faery, with magic in your blood: One size is no more
natural
to you than another. Perhaps you have become accustomed to being small, but with a little practice you could make yourself the height I am now, or half that, or twice as tall again, as easily as winking.”

Linden was startled. She had always known that before the Sundering the Oakenfolk used to make themselves human size at will, so it had seemed obvious to follow
their example. But she had never even thought to try any of the sizes in between….

Well, there was one way to know for sure. She dropped to the ground, shut her eyes in concentration—and opened them again to find Garan looking at her.
Straight
at her, because she'd made herself exactly his height. Linden let out a laugh; it was the oddest feeling, being large and not large at the same time. But it hadn't been difficult at all.

“You see?” said Garan, smiling. They had reached the edge of the beach now; he took her hand and helped her climb up a low staircase of rocks, then stepped out in front to lead the way.

On shore the wind had blown cold beneath a gray sky dappled with clouds: But here the sky was as blue as chicory, and the sun that beat down on them was warm. It might have been May or June, instead of February. They had only walked a few paces into the long, herb-seasoned grass when Linden paused to shrug off her coat and fold it away into her pack. Timothy hesitated, then did likewise—but he moved stiffly, and as he peeled the jacket away Linden saw the dark stain that had spread along his side. “You're bleeding!” she said, alarmed.

“Bleeding?” asked Garan. “You are injured, then? May I look?”

It was the first time he had addressed Timothy directly, but the concern in his voice sounded genuine. Timothy gave an uncomfortable shrug. “It's not that bad,” he said.
“But sure, if you want.”

“He was hurt trying to protect me,” Linden said quickly as Garan moved past her, afraid that the other faery would see the obvious knife wound and come to the wrong conclusion. “We were attacked on the way, and he fought to keep us both from being captured. That's what I meant when I said he was brave.”

Garan lifted Timothy's shirt and examined the ugly, weeping slash across his side. At last he laid his palm against it, ignoring Timothy's flinch, and when he took his hand away there was nothing beneath but a crust of dried blood and a pink line of newly healed skin.

“You will need your strength when you stand before the Elders,” he said. “And I am always glad for a chance to use my healing gifts—in this place, the need for such skill is rare.”

An exciting thought sparked in Linden's mind. “Can you heal any kind of injury?” she asked eagerly. “If you met a human who couldn't use his legs, for instance…”

“If the injury was new and not too grave, I might be able to heal him,” said Garan. “But if several months have passed, or if the injured part were badly crushed or severed, I would not even dare to attempt it. There is only so much that even magic can do.”

Linden's hope faded to disappointment. For a moment she had dared to imagine how happy Paul would be if he could walk again. But if Garan was right, then it was far too late to help him.

Timothy was still staring at his newly healed side. He poked the scar and let out a short laugh, then turned to Garan and said “Th—I mean, that's fantastic! I appreciate it.” He straightened his shoulders, looking more confident and happy than she had seen him in days. “So what you said before, about not getting to heal people very often—I take it you don't see much fighting here?”

“No, indeed,” said Garan. “We left all that behind a thousand years ago, when my ancestors first came to these islands. For years they had served their tribal chieftains faithfully, even surrendering their true names to them as proof of their devotion. But in time their lords grew greedy and ambitious for power, forcing their people into battle for no just cause. So when Rhys came to them from beyond the Sea with the Stone of Naming in his hand, my ancestors gladly gave up the names that enslaved them and took new ones, so that they might choose for themselves whom they would serve. And then they left their old homes and settled upon these islands, pledging themselves to a new life of harmony and peace.”

The Stone of Naming,
thought Linden in wonder. Rob had been right—it was the very thing he and his fellow would-be rebels needed to fight against the Empress. But if the Stone was so important to the Children of Rhys's history, would they be willing to give it up?

“How many of your people are there?” she asked Garan.

“We do not keep count of our numbers,” he replied.
“For though our people marry in their youth and live long lives, they seldom have more than one or two children, and Rhys promised my forefathers that as long as we honored his laws, there would be enough room on these islands for us all.” His mouth bent wryly. “And so it has proved, though there are times I could wish for fewer voices in council.”

“How about this, then,” said Timothy. “How many of these islands do you have?” He had stopped again and was peering out across the sea, his eyes shielded with his hand. “Because I'm counting at least four…no, five…. It's a wonder you aren't knee-deep in shipwrecks by now.”

“There are twelve in all,” Garan said. “The
Gwerdonnau Llion
, what you would call the Green Isles of the Ocean. But no sailor sets foot here except by our leave. Here, we exist in a realm apart from human time, and unwary vessels sail right through us.”

“But you buy your goods on shore,” Timothy pointed out, “or at least you used to. So you must visit the human world now and then.”

“You are well informed about our people, for a human,” said Garan, his brows rising. “Has the tale of Gruffydd truly survived among you for so long? So many years have passed since strangers came to our lands—if not for you, I could believe the whole world had forgotten the Children of Rhys.

“Yes, we do trade often with the humans upon the
shore,” he continued, “but only in disguise, and we do not linger there longer than need demands. And since our traders are chosen by lot, I have yet to visit your shores myself.” His eyes grew wistful. “Perhaps I shall have that chance, one day. But we dally too much, and we should not keep the Elders waiting.”

He turned and led them onward through the grass, until at last they reached the edge of the wood that Linden had seen from shore. Two trees stood a little in front of the rest, their slender trunks perfectly symmetrical and their intertwined branches forming an arch overhead.

“Enter into our court, and be welcome,” said Garan, gesturing for them to go ahead of him. But when Linden looked between the trees she could see only darkness, and it made her uneasy.

“You go first,” she said. “Please.”

“It is not my place,” protested Garan. “The Elders will think I dishonor you.”

“I'll go,” said Timothy, and stepped forward. The shadows swallowed him up at once, and Linden held her breath; but then she heard his voice echoing back from the other side, “It's all right. Come on.”

Linden made herself human size again, for courage. Then she steeled herself and plunged into the dark.

She emerged with a stumble into a great oval chamber, airy and brightly lit. Behind her stood an archway identical to the one through which she had just passed—but on this
side, the trees and their interwoven branches were carved from white marble. And before her, on twelve tall chairs of the same gleaming silver-veined stone, sat the Elders of the Children of Rhys.

They were small in stature, like Garan, and like him wore their hair long. But the men were bearded, the women's plaits coiled like crowns about their heads, and the solemn dignity in their faces made Linden feel very foolish and young. Who was she, or Timothy, to come before a great council like this?

“Lord and Lady Elders of the
Plant Rhys Ddwfn
,” said Garan, stepping up beside them. “I bring before you the faery Linden and the human Timothy.” With a bow he walked off to the left of the chamber and sat down, and only then did Linden realize that the room was full of faeries, hundreds of them, seated in curving tiers that lined the chamber on both sides.

“You have come a great distance to speak with us on behalf of your people, or so you said,” spoke up the first of the Elders, a woman with chestnut skin and a penetrating gaze. “Tell us, what kind of help do you seek?”

Linden took a deep breath and put her hands behind her back, so that the Elders would not see them tremble. Then she spoke up in her clearest voice:

“We need magic, if you are able to give it. Because my people have lost theirs, and now a powerful Empress wants to conquer us, and unless you help us, we will surely die.”

 

Linden did a good job of telling their story, Timothy had to admit—but then, she'd had plenty of practice. She told the Children of Rhys all about the Oakenfolk, and how Jasmine had used up all their magic on her mad scheme to “free” them from humans. Then she went on to relate all that had happened when she and Timothy went to London in search of more faeries, and what they had learned from Veronica and Rob about the Empress. Finally, she explained about the Blackwings coming after them, and how she and Timothy had been forced to flee the Oakenwyld and stake all their hopes on finding the Children of Rhys. But to Timothy's surprise, there was one crucial thing Linden didn't mention: the Stone of Naming, and the bargain she had made with Rob to find it and bring it back.