Wayfarer (18 page)

“This Empress,” said a broad-chested Elder with reddish hair and beard, “who is she, and whence has she come? This is the first we have heard of her.”

“I don't know,” Linden told him. “I just know that she's powerful and cruel, and that all the other faeries are afraid to do anything against her, because she knows their true names. So they have to obey her, whether they want to or not.”

It was then that Timothy realized what Linden was trying to do: She hoped the Elders would see the obvious parallel to their own history, and offer to give her the Stone of Naming without making her ask for it. But though the Elders all looked grave, none took the bait.

“And this Empress refuses to let her subjects associate with humans?” said the dark-haired woman who had addressed them before. “How does she expect the faeries under her rule to thrive? Where do they obtain their meat and milk and grain, their cloth and pottery, their books and musical instruments? Without human trade we would have none of these things, nor the skills to make use of them, and our realm would be impoverished.”

Silence. Timothy glanced at Linden, but she still looked crestfallen at how the Elders had ignored the obvious oppor-tunity to tell her about the Stone. Well, just because she hadn't succeeded didn't mean he couldn't have a try himself.

“They steal them from us,” he spoke up, and was rewarded with shocked murmurs from every side of the room. “They pretend to be human, and lure us into trusting them, and then they take our creativity by force. But how are they supposed to know any better? Their Empress is the worst deceiver of all—she tricked all of the faeries into giving her their blood, and then she used that blood to find out their true names.”

The whispers turned into gasps, and many of the faeries sat up in their seats, looking appalled. “This is evil news indeed,” said a lean, blond Elder who bore a strong resemblance to Garan. “To hear that our fellow faeries have been enslaved against their will cannot help but grieve us all.” He turned his gaze on Linden. “Yet if this Empress is so
powerful and ruthless, what makes you think you can resist her? Her servants are many, and you Oakenfolk are few. It would be ill done if we restored your people's magic only to have the Empress conquer and enslave them, and turn those powers to evil in her service.”

“But the Oakenfolk aren't alone,” Timothy said quickly. “They have allies—humans like myself, and my cousin and his wife. Not to mention a lot of faeries in the Empress's service who would be glad to fight back against her if they could.”

“Yes, and some of those faeries have already helped us,” agreed Linden. “Even risking their lives to warn us about the Empress's plans, and see us safely on our way. Which is why there's one more thing I have to ask of you.” She clasped her hands imploringly. “Please—may we borrow the Stone of Naming, so that we can set them free?”

The hall went utterly silent. No one moved or spoke, but Timothy could feel the weight of hundreds of eyes upon them. The Elders exchanged looks. Finally one of them said, “You have given us much to consider, and we will do so—but in private. We will return when we have reached a verdict.”

Then they all rose and walked out, and the doors swung shut behind them.

 

As the murmurs from the audience swelled to a clamor, Garan hurried out onto the floor and drew Linden and
Timothy aside. “You spoke well,” he said. “My father, Gwylan, is one of the Elders, and though he questioned you closely, I could see that he sympathized with your cause.” His cheeks were flushed and his eyes bright as he spoke. “Perhaps it is time for our people, too, to take a stand.”

“What do you mean by that?” demanded a thin-faced faery with a cap of unruly dark hair. He jumped out of his seat and stalked down the steps to join them. “The Children of Rhys have stood for peace and justice ever since our forefathers first settled these islands. If the other faeries needed guidance, they had only to look to us, but they chose to go their own ways instead. If they have fallen under the spell of this Empress, surely they have only themselves to blame.”

“Look to us, Broch?” said Garan incredulously. “How can they? We leave these islands only to buy our goods and learn whatever crafts may please us, and even then we disguise ourselves and never speak. The humans know us to be generous, but that is all—and what can our fellow faeries learn from the Children of Rhys, when they have not seen or heard from us in centuries?”

“But we cannot leave the
Gwerdonnau Llion
,” protested a girl faery with dusky skin and wiry black hair who looked no older than Linden. “Not without becoming entangled in the very evils from which Rhys and our forefathers sought to deliver us. Surely you cannot desire that?”

“No, Rhosmari, I do not desire evil,” Garan replied with a hint of impatience. “But it seems to me that to stand
idle while evil is being done is no virtue, either. If it is in our power to help Linden and her people—”

“Of course we will help them,” cut in Broch. “That much is plain. But what form that help will take is for the Elders to decide.”

“Is it plain, then?” said another male. “I am not so certain. What do we know of these Oakenfolk? Because one of their number has proven herself honorable, does it follow that all of them are so worthy?”

The discussion became animated as more of the Children of Rhys gathered around, new voices chiming in from every side. But they ignored Linden completely; even Garan was too busy defending himself now to pay any heed to her. All she could do was stand there on the outskirts of the noisy crowd, bewildered and a little hurt.

“Come on,” said Timothy at last, tugging at her arm. “If they're just going to argue, we might as well go have something to eat.”

They found a quiet corner on the room's far side, and Timothy handed out the lunches Mrs. Jenkins had made for them. A pang went through Linden as she opened her bag and found a jam sandwich, a rosy apple, and a bar of chocolate—tokens of a simple kindness that she now dearly missed. For all their courteous talk, the Children of Rhys had never asked if she and Timothy were hungry, or offered them anything to drink. And for all the sunlit beauty of the white chamber around them, the place was
uncomfortable and even a little cold. She thought of the Oak, so humble by contrast, and felt homesick.

She had finished one half of the sandwich and started on the other when the chamber went abruptly quiet, and she looked up to see that all the Children of Rhys—the Elders included—had returned to their seats. Hurriedly she brushed the crumbs from her lap and walked back onto the floor with Timothy.

“We have made our decision,” said Garan's father, and Linden felt a stir of hope. Surely it was a good sign, if the Elders had appointed him to speak? But then she saw how grave he looked, and her confidence faltered as he went on:

“Though it pains us to deny you, we cannot give what you ask. The curse that robbed you and your fellow Oakenfolk of magic has also left you too few in number to resist the Empress, even if your powers were restored. And though you claim to have allies, their loyalty is unproven, and the Stone of Naming is too precious to fall into enemy hands.”

Tears swam into Linden's eyes, and she put her hands over her mouth. She and Timothy had come so far, endured so much…. Had it truly all been for nothing?

“And yet,” Gwylan continued, “we are not without pity. It is the will of the Elders that any of your people who choose may come and join us here in the
Gwerdonnau Llion
, where their magic will be restored and they may live out the rest of their lives with us in peace and safety…provided, that is, they pass the test.”

Approving murmurs rose from the audience: Nearly all the Children of Rhys seemed to agree that the judgment was fair. But Linden closed her eyes, despairing. What use was an invitation that none of her people could possibly accept? There was no way that a group of small faeries with no magic to protect themselves could undertake such a long journey—and even if by some miracle they did make it this far, how many of them would be deemed worthy to join the Children of Rhys? Much as she disliked Mallow's bossiness and blustering, much as she resented Bluebell trying to set herself up as Queen in Valerian's place, Linden could not bear the thought that any of the Oakenfolk might fail the test, and be left behind.

Timothy's arm came around her shoulders, a wordless gesture of sympathy, and Linden turned to him and buried her face against his chest, a little sob heaving out of her. The chamber grew quiet, the Elders awaiting her reply—but she couldn't bear to look at them, didn't know what to say.

“So that's what you call pity?” demanded Timothy over the top of her head, and she pulled back, startled, as he continued in the same fierce tone: “I call it cowardice. Linden's told you what's happening out there—nearly all your fellow faeries are slaves of the Empress, and they're treating my people like cattle. The Oakenfolk are the only ones left who know how to live freely and in peace with humans—and instead of helping them make a difference
in the world, you want to make them just as useless and self-righteous as you are?”

“Boy,” began one of the Elders warningly, but Timothy kept talking right over him:

“Why should the Oakenfolk come and live with people who've been so busy congratulating themselves on their own goodness and generosity, they haven't even noticed that the rest of the world is suffering? You keep yourself hidden away on these islands because you're afraid of being corrupted. But what good are your laws if they only help people who are perfect already? What use are your beliefs if they can't stand up to the real world?”

He spoke with passion, gray-green eyes blazing, and Linden gazed up at him in awe. When he had finished, the silence in the chamber was electric, and it was several heartbeats before the dark-haired Lady Elder spoke:

“Return to us the magical herbs you carry. You have scorned our sacred traditions and despised our charity, and you are no longer welcome here.”

And with that, she stood up and deliberately turned her back on them. Several other Elders did likewise, and then, after a helpless pause, the rest. Gwylan was last to turn, his face grim and his hands clenched at his sides. Then, in a flash of cold light, all twelve of them disappeared.

In the dreadful stillness that followed the Elders' verdict, four faeries carrying spears and wearing leather breastplates marched out onto the floor, one from each corner of the chamber. Their faces were hard, their manner imposing despite their small size, and the menace that radiated from them made Linden's mouth go dry with fear.

“So much for your kingdom of justice and peace,” said Timothy bitterly. “Is that how you keep your people in line here—just throw out anyone who dares to disagree with you?”

“Give us the herbs,” said one of the faery guards, holding out her hand, and with a scowl Timothy swung his
backpack off his shoulder. He opened the side pocket, pulled out the wilted, muddy clump he had taken from St. David's churchyard, and flung it at the guards' feet.

Linden looked at Garan, silently begging him to stand up and do something to support them. But he would not meet her gaze, and before she could even speak his name he vanished. Like stars winking out, the other Children of Rhys followed his example, and in moments every seat in the chamber was empty.

Her eyes prickled as she stared at the place where Garan had been. His desertion hurt, but it also stunned her to see how easily these faeries could transport themselves from one place to another with a single thought. Surely, if the Children of Rhys had that much power, it would have been no difficulty for them to share some of it with the Oakenfolk. Yet they had not been willing to do even that, except on their own impossible terms…and now her people's last hope of salvation was gone.

“I'm sorry,” she heard Timothy say in a low voice. “I shouldn't have said anything.”

Linden took his hand and squeezed it. “Don't apologize,” she said softly. “You were right.”

“Walk,” said another of the guards, pointing his spear toward the sculpted archway through which they had come. Wiping her eyes on her sleeve, Linden obeyed—and in a few steps she and Timothy emerged once more at the edge of the little wood, with the wildflower-dotted meadow
stretching before them. Two of the guards stepped out in front of them, while the other two fell in behind, and in silence they waded through the tangled, hissing grass until they reached the shoreline.

“The boat is there,” the female guard said, pointing imperiously. “Get into it, and be gone.”

Timothy went first, tossing his backpack into the bottom of the boat with a thump and climbing in after it. His face was set with anger, but Linden felt only a weary sadness. She was just about to follow when she heard Garan's voice, and turned back to see him standing in the midst of the four guards, gesturing earnestly as he talked with them. They seemed unimpressed, but at last the leader nodded, and he and all but one male guard disappeared.

“I'll just be a moment, Llinos,” said Garan. Then he hurried down the stairs to meet Timothy and Linden on the beach.

“I came to plead with you,” he said, clasping Linden's hand between both his own. “It is not too late for you to accept the Elders' offer. If you return with me now, and tell them you are sorry—”

“I am not sorry,” she said, pulling her hand back and curling it into a fist. “There is no place here for me or my people, whatever your Elders might say.”

Garan's shoulders slumped. “Then I can only bid you good-bye.”

“Come with us,” Linden urged, but he shook his head.

“I cannot,” he said. “For all that I spoke boldly of taking a stand, I am not ready to leave the
Gwerdonnau Llion
. Not yet.” He backed away from the boat, one hand lifting in a sad farewell. Then he vanished.

Emotion welled up in Linden, threatening to shatter her composure. Ducking her head so that the watching guard would not see her face, she stepped into the boat and sat down, hands folded in her lap. She had just settled herself when a great wave rushed in, lifting the vessel from the sand and pulling it out to sea.

As they floated toward a set of pillars that looked just like the ones closer to the shore, Timothy rested his chin on his hand, staring into the distance. After a moment he said, “I didn't take Garan for such a coward.”

“Don't judge him too harshly,” she replied, though it was hard to keep her voice from trembling. “He did what he could.”

Timothy gave a derisive snort. “If you say so. It sounded like a lot of useless talk to me.”

Linden forced herself to keep silent until the waves carried them through the portal, and they emerged safely on the other side. Then she broke into a smile, and opened her hand to reveal the parting gift Garan had given her.

“Is that—” started Timothy, sitting bolt upright in his seat, but Linden held a warning finger to her lips. For all they knew, the Children of Rhys might still be listening.

“We'll talk about it later,” she said, trying to sound sad
and hopeless—as indeed she had been, until Garan pressed the Stone of Naming into her hand. “Right now, all I want is to get back to shore.”

 

The tide was high as they reached the little cove, and their boat pitched and rolled as it rode the breakers in. Linden made herself small and leaped into the air, easily dodging the spray, but Timothy was forced to leap for the cliffside, and a cold wave drenched his legs at once. Hands numb, feet slipping wetly inside his shoes, he scrabbled for a hold on the rocks and then began edging up the narrow, treacherous path toward the mainland.

“I can't see the Blackwings anywhere,” called Linden from above. After a moment she added hopefully, “But we were gone for hours. Maybe they've given up?”

“It'd be…nice…to think so.” Timothy panted, all his concentration focused on not slipping. It seemed forever before he reached the top of the cliff, and when he got there he was spent: He collapsed onto the muddy grass and lay there, not even caring whether the Blackwings were coming or not.

“Are you all right?” asked Linden.

Timothy licked the sea salt off his lips and let his head fall back with a gentle thud. “Yeah,” he croaked. “Just give me a minute.”

Linden sat down on a rock by his side, the Stone of Naming cupped in her hand. “I can't believe Garan just
gave it to us,” she said softly, turning it over in her fingers. “He must have known he'd be punished, maybe even exiled, when the other Children of Rhys found out. And yet he wouldn't come with us either.”

Timothy struggled up onto his elbows and looked out over the edge of the cliff. There was no trace left of the Green Isles or the boat that had carried them there, just the empty, wind-chopped sea. Even the little cove with the standing stones had vanished, as though it had been nothing more than a dream. “He's never lived anywhere but those islands,” he said slowly. “Maybe he just can't bring himself to leave unless he's got no other choice.”

“Maybe,” said Linden, but she sounded doubtful. “So where do we go now?”

“As far from here as we can, before the Blackwings come back,” said Timothy. He sat up, and the chill wind sliced through his wet jeans like a machete; instantly his teeth began to chatter, and he rubbed his thighs in a desperate effort to warm them. “I saw…a hostel on the way up from St. David's. We could stop there…ask them the quickest way back to London.”

“Yes, but…” Linden's small face wrinkled with concern. “We don't have enough money to get all the way back home, do we?”

Here we go again
, thought Timothy, but without resentment. If he'd succeeded in forcing Linden to pay their way with glamour the last time, they'd never have been allowed
to visit the Children of Rhys. “We could call Paul and Peri. Maybe one of them could drive out….”

Linden shook her head. “I don't want to do that. They've already risked enough for us. And remember what Rob said, when Paul wanted to come with us before?” She pursed her lips, then said determinedly, “All right. You get us to the train station. I'll get us home.”

“How are you going to do that?”

Linden put the Stone of Naming in her pocket and stood, flexing her wings. “I'll turn us both invisible.”

How this was any less dishonest than buying a ticket with glamour Timothy couldn't tell, and he was about to say so when she added, “And we'll pay for our ride properly later.”

“Right,” said Timothy, oddly relieved that she hadn't abandoned her scruples.

“But we'd better get you some dry clothes first,” said Linden, sounding worried now. “You really do feel the cold, don't you?”

“Yes, and I hate it,” said Timothy fervently between his teeth.

“Then let's hurry,” said Linden, and with that she flew off. Timothy hobbled behind her, and after stumbling down the footpath for a few minutes he spotted the rooftops of the hostel in the distance.

“You'd better hide in my backpack again,” he said to Linden. “Just in case.”

By the time Timothy reached the hostel, the last of the
afternoon sunshine had disappeared; the sky was the color of slate, and a thin, drizzling rain had begun to fall. He squelched in through the front door and said to the girl at the desk, “What's the quickest way to London?”

“Well, there's a train station at Haverfordwest,” replied the attendant. “But the last bus left St. David's at half-past five, and there won't be another until tomorrow.”

“How far is it? Could I walk?”

The girl let out a disbelieving laugh. “Walk? Not likely! It'd take you all night.”

Timothy's shoulders slumped. Now what were they going to do?

“Look,” said the girl kindly. “Why don't you stay here tonight? We've plenty of space, and it's cheap. You can have a hot shower and a good night's sleep, and take the bus out tomorrow morning.”

“Just a minute,” Timothy told her, and hurried outside to speak to Linden. “Is there a chance we might be safe here for the night?” he said in a low voice as he opened his backpack. “Once they lost our trail, the Blackwings might have flown anywhere. Back the way we came, or even back to the Empress, for all we know.”

“I don't see that we have much choice,” said Linden glumly. “You can't go anywhere like that, in any case.”

Timothy didn't need to ask what she meant. His muscles were trembling with exhaustion and cold, and a little puddle of water had formed around his shoes. He only hoped that he could still find some dry clothes in his backpack.

“All right,” he said grimly. “We'll just have to sleep light—and hope for the best.”

 

The room was simply furnished, with walls of gray stone and a bare wooden floor—but it was private, and the bed looked comfortable. As soon as the attendant left, Linden climbed out of the backpack and jumped to the mattress, while Timothy grabbed an armful of clothing and vanished in search of the shower.

He was gone a long time. Linden stayed small as she nibbled the last half of her sandwich, so that there would be plenty left for Timothy when he came back. Then she curled up on the pillow, hiding herself with a corner of the blanket while she waited for his return. But she must have been more tired than she realized, because when she opened her eyes again the room was dark, and Timothy was gingerly easing his head onto the pillow in an effort not to wake her.

“It's all right,” she said sleepily, rolling over and curling up against his shoulder. He smelled of soap and seawater, mingled with the earthier scent of his humanity; it was a good smell, oddly comforting. It occurred to her that perhaps one of them ought to stay up and keep watch for the Blackwings, especially now that the iron key was gone and they had no way to shield themselves against another attack. But the pillow felt soft and Timothy was warm and she was so very tired…

Linden dreamt that she was back at the Oak, with all the faeries gathered around her as she cast the spell that would restore their magic. Rob's dark eyes gleamed with admiration as he held up the Stone of Naming and said to her, “The Empress is defeated. You have saved us all.” Knife, Paul, and Timothy watched from the veranda of the House, smiling, and then Valerian came up and embraced her, and said, “Queen Amaryllis would be so proud of you, Linden. You have truly fulfilled all our hopes.”

It was everything she longed for, and yet it rang false somehow: It was too perfect even for a dream. But she still could not bring herself to wake, even though somewhere at the back of it all lay a feathery blackness, and the sounds of harsh laughter.

 

Timothy sat in the spotlight, guitar thrumming in his hands as he played before an audience of thousands all clapping and cheering for more. The song was the catchiest tune he'd ever heard, all palm-slapping rhythm and fast-plucked melody, and Miriam stood beside him with a microphone, singing the words in her husky, resonant voice—but her eyes were on him as she sang, and everyone in the audience was watching him, too, and he knew that it was
his
concert,
his
song. There was no more uncertainty in him now, no shadow of doubt. He was Timothy Sinclair, world-famous musician, and the knowledge filled him with a fierce and inextinguishable pride.

But when he woke, he found himself a prisoner.

The bed, the hostel, the rocky Welsh hillside—all were gone. Instead of cozy darkness the room swam with sallow morning light, filtering in through a barred window high above. He was lying on a cement floor without a mattress or even a blanket to cover him, wearing nothing but the T-shirt and boxers he'd gone to bed in. Timothy got up, shivering, and tried to open the door. It was locked.

And yet the room didn't look like a jail cell. There were screw holes on the wall where a chalkboard had once hung, and bits of old posters taped to the wall. He felt a muzzy sense of recognition, but it wasn't until he found a blue crayon wedged into the baseboard and a scrap of faded paper reading PPIANS 2:12 that he realized he was trapped in an old Sunday school classroom.