No Ordinary Fairy Tale, page 20
part #0 of No Ordinary Fairy Tale Series
“I cannot claim to be deaf,” said Valerian, “but I can at least pledge to be discreet. Whatever you say here will remain here.” She opened her Healer’s bag and took out a roll of bandages. “Now, will you lift that injured ankle, so I can bind it up while you talk?”
Still Knife hesitated, but only for a moment. Campion was surely dying anyway, and would take these secrets to her grave; and Valerian was the Oak’s only Healer, so she could not be punished too severely even if the Queen found out. Turning to Campion, Knife took the Librarian’s hand as she had done the night before, and began to tell her what she had learned from Heather’s second diary.
It did not take long for Valerian to bind Knife’s ankle, and after it was done she put her Healer’s kit aside and sat down on the end of the bed, listening. As the story drew to its close, with Heather preparing to return to the Oak and give birth to her daughter there, Knife saw Valerian’s expression become troubled; but Campion simply absorbed the words, like a parched root drinking water.
“Is that . . . all?” she said when Knife had finished.
“No,” said Knife. “There’s a third diary – but it won’t unlock without a password, and I’ll need time to read it before I can tell you the rest of the story.”
Campion nodded, her eyelids drooping shut again. Valerian rose swiftly and laid her hand on the Librarian’s brow; then she motioned Knife to follow her to the other side of the room, so that they could speak in private.
“This is remarkable,” she said, glancing back at Campion. “She should have passed into the next stage of the Silence hours ago. Yet she seems no weaker than when you first spoke to her last night, and the delirium has passed. Perhaps I am seeing only what I hope to see, but—”
“You’re not imagining it,” said Knife. “She actually gripped my hand near the end. But what’s going to happen when there’s no more story to tell?”
Valerian was silent for a long time, looking down at her folded arms. “This Heather you spoke of,” she said at last. “The one who married the human. She was Lavender’s friend, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Then do you think perhaps . . .” But she had no time to finish the sentence before the door scraped open and Thorn pushed herself through, disheveled and breathless.
“I’ve got it,” she said, waving the book in her hand, then stopped short at the sight of Valerian. “Oh, blight.”
“Make that blessing,” said Knife, steering her toward the Healer. “She’ll tell you what was in the second diary while I read the third one; it’ll be quicker that way.”
“Are you cracked?” demanded Thorn. “Bringing her into this, when we don’t know we can trust her?”
But Knife had already pulled the diary from her hand and raised it to her lips. “Philip,” she whispered to it, and it opened.
I have missed the Oak, and part of me is glad to return; yet I long for my husband and my little James, and even these few days without them seem like an eternity. I could not bear to think of leaving my daughter here, were it not for the hope of seeing her again one day, and if not for my confidence that dear Lavender will care for her more tenderly than any human nurse – indeed, perhaps more than I could do myself.
Yet it has troubled me to find the Oak so altered from when I left it. Snowdrop is dead, and Jasmine has become Queen in her place; my sisters seem content enough to accept the change, but my heart is filled with foreboding. Jasmine–though I suppose I must say Her Majesty, now–welcomed me and received my report with all courtesy, and yet the coolness of her gaze made me shiver. If I had not pledged long ago to put the needs of the Oak above my own, I should gladly have returned to Waverley Hall at once: but I have sacrificed much to come this far, and I dare not leave before my daughter is born.
Lavender has done much to reassure me about Jasmine, saying that she rules the Oak justly and well, and that I am wrong to fear her. Still, I think that I shall set a password upon this diary, just in case . . .
“What?” yelped Thorn from the other side of the room, where Valerian was explaining what Knife had found in the second diary. “The bit about Heather marrying a human was bad enough, but now you expect me to believe she had a baby too?”
“You should believe her, if you believe anyone,” interrupted Knife, putting her book down. “She’s Heather and Philip’s daughter.”
Valerian turned sharply. “It’s true, then? I was right?”
“I’m sure of it,” said Knife.
“But that’s ridiculous,” Thorn objected. “All right, we had magic back then and we weren’t frightened of the humans, but why go to all this trouble and nonsense to have children with them? There were still plenty of Oakenfolk alive in Heather’s day without having to make more, and if it weren’t for the Sundering and then the Silence, there still would be. Why fuss about with humans when you can make a perfectly good egg on your own?”
Knife and Valerian exchanged glances. “I cannot tell you that,” the Healer said at last, “and clearly Knife is not yet sure of the answer herself. But I am not certain that leaving eggs behind when we die is as natural to us faeries as you think. In fact, since no other creature does likewise, one might well call our method of doing things . . . unnatural.”
“Speaking of strange things,” said Knife, waving the diary in her hand, “did either of you know about Jasmine becoming Queen when Snowdrop died? I knew I’d heard her name somewhere before, but I’d thought the throne passed straight from Snowdrop to Amaryllis.”
“I . . . know,” said Campion’s weak voice from the bed, and they all turned to look at her. She gave a thin smile and went on, “Finally . . . reading all that history . . . worth something.”
“What can you tell us?” asked Knife.
“Can’t prove it, but . . . now I know more about Jasmine, I think . . . maybe Snowdrop’s death wasn’t . . . an accident.”
“But the South Root tunnel collapsed on top of her,” said Valerian. “I read of it in the death records – three other faeries perished the same way. What else could it be?”
“You’re forgetting,” said Thorn, with sudden grimness. “Our people had magic then. All of them.”
Campion nodded. “By then . . . Jasmine had . . . already made herself popular at Court,” she said. “She was . . . next in line . . . for the throne. And she was there . . . when the roof fell in.”
“But there must have been witnesses,” Knife said. “If she’d used magic, they would have noticed—”
“No,” said Campion. “Kitchen workers . . . heard a rumble, went to see what was going on . . . found Jasmine scrabbling in the dirt . . . trying to get to the Queen.”
“As any loyal subject would do,” said Valerian.
“Or any murderer who wanted to look like a loyal subject,” retorted Thorn. “I know it’s a thin twig for such a heavy acorn. But my gut tells me Campion’s right.”
“So does mine,” admitted Knife. “But if it’s true that Jasmine murdered Snowdrop – what does that say about Amaryllis? Surely, if Jasmine was that powerful and that determined, she’d never have given up the throne except by force?”
The faeries all looked at one another, but no one spoke.
“Let me finish this diary,” said Knife, sitting down by Campion’s bedside and opening it up again. “Then maybe we’ll know.”
My time is near now, I can feel it; I am glad that Lavender has prepared herself to attend me, so that I shall not have to labor alone. Such a dear and faithful friend – whatever should I do without her?
The next entry read:
The ordeal is past, and my daughter safely born. I wish that Philip could see her, with her grey eyes so like his. She is perfect, a faery to make the Oak proud. I have nursed her and laid her down to sleep, but I find it hard not to steal glances at her even as I write. Already it breaks my heart to think of leaving her, and I cannot help wishing that there were another way . . .
But Heather’s delight in her new daughter was soon shadowed by uneasiness as she learned more about the situation in the Oak. It disturbed her particularly to find out that she was not the only one who had lately returned from Outside; apparently Queen Jasmine had sent word that all the Oakenfolk must attend her to swear fealty, and three other faeries had already left their missions in order to do so.
Why this made Heather so anxious, Knife was not sure, but it was not long before she found out. Only two entries later the shock came, burning through her like a fever:
I can scarcely write these words for weeping, and the pain within me is so great that I fear my heart must burst rather than contain it. Jasmine–I will not call her Queen now, for she is no liege of mine–has betrayed us all. Great Gardener, have mercy upon us!
With pounding heart Knife read through the few pages of the diary that remained. She had already begun to suspect Jasmine of having a hand in the Sundering, but even her darkest imaginings had not prepared her for Heather’s final entry.
Lavender is lost to me, her reason and her memory overthrown; she babbles nonsense, and when I speak of Philip she claps her hands to her ears and screams. The whole Oak is in chaos, faeries milling and bleating like sheep; they hear only Jasmine’s voice, not mine, no matter how I plead. The horror is unbearable–I cannot leave my daughter here–I must escape. Yet how can I return to Waverley, trapped in this small body and robbed of all my magic? Even if by some miracle I could survive the journey, how can I endure the sight of Philip’s face when he learns that he has lost not only his daughter, but his beloved Muse as well?
Yet I have no choice. It will not be long before Jasmine discovers that my mind remains unclouded, and that I cannot submit to her schemes. I must leave tonight, with the moon to light my path and my little Valerian in my arms; for even if we perish, it will be a better fate than the one Jasmine offers us.
I shall put this diary away in a secret place, with a prayer that some day it may be found by those with the wits to comprehend it, and the courage to bring the truth to light again. Forgive me that I can do no more. Farewell.
Knife dropped the diary as though it had stung her. “Jasmine,” she whispered. “She cast the Sundering – but why? Why?”
She glanced over at Campion, but the Librarian’s eyes had closed again. Across the room, Thorn was still arguing with Valerian about the practical merits of eggs as opposed to children, and neither of them seemed to have noticed Knife’s distress.
Not that it mattered, she told herself. She was grateful for their help, and Wink’s too, but they had risked enough for her already. This riddle she would solve alone, even if she had to demand the truth from Queen Amaryllis herself.
And yet something nagged at her mind, a sense that she had the answer already but had somehow failed to see it. She thought back on all she had learned about Jasmine, fragments of Heather’s diaries floating through her mind:
A gown, which she said was in need of mending . . . the bodice was badly torn and one sleeve ripped . . .
“I have gained some little skill as an artist since I went away.” She smiled, but her eyes remained bitter . . .
I had thought at first that she would be pleased at my good fortune, but her own sad experience Outside . . . had filled her with misgivings, and she all but pleaded with me not to go . . .
His temper was legendary, added Paul’s voice unexpectedly, and just like that, Knife knew. Jane Nesmith: the beautiful, the mysterious; the woman who had vanished, and left Alfred Wrenfield madly painting faeries . . .
Jasmine.
Slowly Knife bent and picked up Heather’s last diary from the floor. She laid it on the bedside table and said in her calmest voice, “I’m just going upstairs for a bit.” Then, without waiting to hear what Valerian or Thorn would say, she slipped out.
•••
Queen Amaryllis sat at her writing desk, her back to the door. She was dressed in a faded blue tunic and skirt that spoke less of elegance than comfort, her only mark of office a slim circlet about her brow. “What is it, Bluebell?” she said, but then her head came up like a fox on the scent and her body went very still, as though she had already realized her mistake.
“Your Majesty,” said Knife, “we need to talk.”
twenty
“Have you returned already?” asked Queen Amaryllis, turning in her seat. Then her gaze fell to Knife’s bandaged ankle, and she exclaimed, “You are hurt!”
She sounded alarmed, and Knife felt an unexpected stab of guilt. “It’s not serious,” she said. “I mean, it’ll take a few days to heal, but . . . that’s not what I came to tell you.”
Amaryllis’s brows rose. “Very well: speak.”
Knife stood up straighter, gathering courage. “I didn’t go looking for other faeries today.”
“So you lied to me.” The Queen’s face darkened. “Why?”
Quickly Knife explained about Heather’s diaries and what she had learned from them, taking care not to mention Wink and Thorn, but to make it sound as though she had made all these discoveries alone.
“And once I knew Heather’s story,” she continued, “I was able to piece together Jasmine’s as well. She too had loved a human, an artist named Alfred Wrenfield – but one day he became angry and struck her, betraying her trust and shattering the bond between them. She left him and returned to the Oak, but all the while her bitterness grew, until she had convinced herself that all humans were just as brutal and unworthy as her lover had been. She tried to persuade the other faeries to stop going Outside, telling them they should be content with the skills and knowledge they already had. But no one listened to her, and in the end she decided the only way to free the Oakenfolk from their dependence on humans was by force.
“She murdered Snowdrop and took her place as Queen, then ordered all the faeries who had gone Outside to return to the Oak. They obeyed her without question and, once Heather’s child was born, she had only to wait for the next full moon to carry out her plan.
“On that night Jasmine stepped out of the Oak and cast a terrible dark magic spell, tapping into the power of all the other Oakenfolk and twisting it against them. First she changed their bodies, so that they could replace themselves with eggs instead of needing human mates. Then she confused their memories, so that they wouldn’t be able to remember what the Outside world was like; and finally she planted in them a powerful fear of humans, so that they would never be tempted to go near one again. The Sundering used up nearly all the power the Oakenfolk had, but Jasmine believed her actions would be worth the cost, for now her people would be free of human influence forever.
“Since then Jasmine and nearly all the faeries she changed have disappeared or died out,” Knife finished. “The new generation of Oakenfolk aren’t confused like the old ones were, and we’re not as frightened either. But still the belief that humans are monsters lives on – and now I know it’s killing us.”
Throughout this speech, Amaryllis had kept her eyes lowered and her face impassive. Now her head snapped up, and her voice took on a cutting edge as she replied:
“That is killing us, you say? The simple belief that humans are a threat to our people? How can they be anything less, when they are so large and powerful, and we have so little magic with which to defend ourselves? And what of the other dangers that have claimed so many lives – the crows, the foxes, the electrical wires? What of the Silence, which has been responsible for nearly every death among us since the Sundering?”
The Queen rose from her chair, her face stony. “Have a care, Knife. You may well take pride in your own cleverness for discovering the truth – and yes, it is the truth, I do not deny it. But if you mean to tell me that after a few nights of skulking at windows and reading books you have learned more about humans than I know after eighty years of living in their midst . . .”
“Eighty years?” said Knife, taken aback.
“A ‘scholarly venture’, the historians called it,” said Amaryllis, her lips pursing with contempt. “In those days students of humanity such as myself were often overlooked, our work taken for granted. But without the information we passed back to the Oak, faeries like Heather would have been ill-prepared for their missions; they would have been unlikely even to meet gifted humans such as Alfred Wrenfield and Philip Waverley, let alone have opportunity to bond with them.”
Knife blinked at this, and the Queen’s mouth curled in a mirthless smile. “You look surprised. Did you think that all faeries who left the Oak were seeking human mates? No doubt Heather and Jasmine’s stories made you think so, but in truth such unions were rare. The rest of us made acquaintances of numerous humans, both male and female; in this way we could spread our influence more widely among them, and encourage them to greater creativity even if we could not inspire them to genius.”
“But . . . we couldn’t make eggs before Jasmine changed us,” said Knife slowly. “So if only a few faeries ever married humans, and only their daughters came back to the Oak . . . shouldn’t we have died out long before the Sundering?”
“In times of need,” said Amaryllis, “there were other ways of finding children. The stories about changelings are not wholly fables; though in truth it was not the loved and wanted children that we took from the humans, but the orphaned, abused and neglected. Jasmine herself was one such, though she would have scorned to admit it.”
“All right,” said Knife. “That makes sense – but there’s still something I don’t understand. If Jasmine cast her spell on everyone in the Oak, how did you escape?”
“I ignored her summons,” the Queen replied. “I was busy at the time, and it seemed unreasonable that I should return to the Oak on such short notice. Besides, the news of the call had come to me second-hand, so I had reason to believe that Jasmine had forgotten my existence – I told you already that scholars of my kind were often overlooked.”
