No Ordinary Fairy Tale, page 64
part #0 of No Ordinary Fairy Tale Series
And why was it so hot? Rhosmari shifted restlessly on the crunching mattress, flinging the covers away from her. A breeze stirred the curtain at her window, but its coolness barely touched the stagnant air inside. She longed for the sea winds that freshened the Green Isles.
But that was not all she longed for. She missed the smells of sand and seaweed, the slap of waves upon rock, the distant cries of kittiwakes and gannets. She wondered what Lord Gwylan was doing now that he was no longer among the Elders, and if Lady Arianllys had seen any more visions, and whether Fioled would still get to visit the mainland. She wished she could have said goodbye to her students before she left.
She missed her mother.
Until now Rhosmari had not allowed herself the luxury of weeping for her homeland. She had been afraid that if she started she might never stop. Once her initial shock and anger at being trapped in the Oak had passed, she had forced herself to accept her fate, and reject the temptation to run away. Even though a treacherous little part of her whispered that it might be worth giving herself up to the Empress, just to see the Green Isles again . . .
And now the tears came, soaking hot into her pillow. Despite all Rhosmari’s efforts to make herself a part of the Oak, it was not her home, and these were not her people. Even Garan had become a stranger to her; he was occupied with other things. And the last person who had taken her in his arms and comforted her was Martin.
Yet just as her grief threatened to overwhelm her, Rhosmari was distracted by the sound of music. The shivering notes of plucked strings, lifted and borne to her on the wind from somewhere not close, but not very far away.
She sat up, wiping her eyes on the sheet. Was that Rob playing? But though she knew he was a skilled musician, he had not touched an instrument in all the time she had known him. In fact, she had seen no musical instruments anywhere in the Oak.
Rhosmari slipped off the bed and went to the window. It was hard to see with so many branches in the way, but she could just make out the back of the house and the slim young man seated on the veranda, cradling a guitar.
Timothy. Of course. How could she have forgotten?
He played well and fluidly, pausing only now and then to alter a note or repeat a phrase. And the music itself was unlike any she had heard before–melancholy one moment and quickening to hopefulness the next, slipping into a confident rhythm that made her fingers twitch before slowing to a hesitant and almost questioning pace. At times it seemed more like a speech than a song, the words of some foreign tongue that she had no way to interpret. And yet it soothed her, reassuring her that she was not alone.
The afternoon light was fading, the blue sky deepening to marine. Soon it would be nightfall, and who knew what would happen then? Rhosmari took her hair out of its clasp, combed it with her fingers, and twisted it back again. She ran her hands over her rumpled blouse and skirt, tightened her belt, straightened her shoulders. Then she Leaped to the veranda, where Timothy was sitting.
As soon as she became solid she staggered and almost fell, weakness rushing over her. Someone had planted cold iron all around the house. Bars of it lay beneath every threshold, nails were hammered into every window sash and sill. To keep the Empress from attacking Oakhaven with magic, Peri had turned the house into a place that no faery, Rhosmari included, would find it easy to go near. And when Timothy exclaimed and jumped up to help her, she could feel the numbing power of the iron cross radiating from beneath his shirt. She flinched and jerked away.
“Sorry about that,” said Timothy, pulling the necklace off and tossing it onto the chair. “Thorn told us what you’d found out about the Empress, and Peri thought we should be prepared. We didn’t expect to see you again today.”
“I understand,” said Rhosmari, breathing slowly to quell her dizziness. “I just . . . I wanted to talk to you and the others. Before anything happens.”
“Well, we probably shouldn’t talk here,” said Timothy, with a wary glance at the sky. He reached under the threshold of the glass door, pulled out an iron poker and cast it aside. “Do you think it’ll be any better if you come in?”
“I . . . I’m not sure.” Mustering her courage, Rhosmari stepped over the threshold–and immediately felt better. The iron was meant to keep hostile faeries out, but she was here by invitation, and inside the house the effect was much less unpleasant.
“Right,” said Timothy. “I’ll just fix up the door again, and then we’ll go and find Peri.”
sixteen
They found Peri in the upstairs bedroom, peering out between the half-drawn curtains with an antique spyglass. With a pile of schoolbooks on the nightstand and a heap of unwashed clothing in the corner, it was easy to tell this room normally belonged to Timothy. But now the bed was littered with maps and scribbled diagrams, while an alarming assortment of weapons stood propped against the wall, a crossbow and a long hunting knife among them.
“Spotted anything yet?” asked Timothy, as he and Rhosmari came in.
Peri lowered the spyglass with a frustrated huff of breath. “It’s so hard to tell. If she’s bringing in her troops, she’s doing what I would do: flying in low and using the wood to cover their approach. There could be a hundred faeries hiding in those trees by now, and as long as they don’t trip any of the wards we’d never know it.”
“But you spotted the Blackwings earlier, right?”
“I saw two ravens,” replied Peri. “But they arrived more than an hour apart. It could just be coincidence— Oh, hello, Rhosmari.” She swept the charts off the bed, clearing a space for Rhosmari to sit. “What brings you here? I thought they’d be keeping you busy in the Oak.”
“Everyone’s resting,” said Rhosmari, “or trying to. But I couldn’t.” Self-conscious, she sat down at the edge of the mattress–and Timothy promptly came around the other side and flopped onto his back, nearly bouncing her off again.
“Sit up, you rude thing,” said Peri, tossing a cushion at him. Timothy caught it and tucked it behind his head; Peri rolled her eyes and returned her attention to Rhosmari. “I doubt anyone else in the Oak can sleep either,” she told her. “But you’re welcome to stay as long as you like. Once the Empress arrives, you might even be safer here.”
“No, I’ll have to go back,” said Rhosmari. “I promised Queen Valerian that I’d make a loreseed of the battle.” And then, of course, she had to explain what a loreseed was. But both of the humans were intrigued by the idea, especially Peri.
“If we’d known how to do that when Jasmine cast the Sundering,” she said, “she’d never have been able to make us forget our past. I hope we won’t need your loreseed to remind us of what really happened, but if we do, it’s good to know it’ll be there.”
She said we and our so readily, as though she were still one of the Oakenfolk herself. And that reminded Rhosmari of something she’d wanted to know for a long time. “Peri,” she said, “what made you decide to stop being a faery? I mean, I know you and Paul fell in love—” It was not easy to get through that phrase without stammering, but somehow she did it— “but how did it all happen?”
Peri glanced over at Timothy. “You might want to go and practice some more,” she said. “I’m sure you’re sick of hearing all this by now.”
“Actually, no,” said Timothy, crossing his legs and folding his hands comfortably over his stomach. “Tell us a story, Aunty Peri.”
Was this how humans dealt with unbearable tension–by making jokes? Rhosmari could only marvel at their resilience. But she barely had time to finish the thought before Peri began to explain how she had hatched from a magical egg in the Oak thirty years ago, and grown up to become the fierce young hunter known as Knife.
It was a long story, and amazingly complicated. Having studied the faery records and Heather’s diaries already, Rhosmari knew all about what Jasmine had done to the Oakenfolk–but Knife had been forced to discover the truth about her people’s history one dangerous step at a time, with Queen Amaryllis trying to thwart her at every turn. And in the meantime Knife had met and come to know Paul quite by accident, never dreaming that their shared interest in art would lead them not only to friendship, but to an even more forbidden love.
When at last Peri finished her story, Rhosmari felt as though she were waking from a vivid and compelling dream. She gathered her thoughts with difficulty, and said, “So Queen Amaryllis tried to make you forget Paul, and she couldn’t do it?”
“No more than Jasmine could make Heather forget Philip,” said Peri.
“But how could that be? Neither you nor Heather had any magic to protect yourselves. If the same kind of spell worked to make all the other faeries forget, why wouldn’t it work on you?”
“That’s a good question,” Peri said. “What do you think?”
“The power of love?” said Timothy, but he sounded skeptical. “Sorry, I don’t mean to make light of your feelings, but that sounds a little . . .” He made a looping motion with one finger.
Peri gave a short laugh. “It does, doesn’t it? No, that’s not the answer–though it’s part of the reason.” Her face sobered. “I loved Paul, yes. But that alone wouldn’t have made any difference, if I hadn’t trusted him enough to give him my name. My true name.”
Rhosmari felt as though a heavy weight had dropped onto her chest. Her throat clenched, and little shivers ran all over her. “You . . .” she whispered, forcing the words out. “You gave it to him, when you were still a faery? Even knowing he could use it to control you?”
“I did,” said Peri. “Because I wanted him to know how much I cared for him, even though I was afraid I might never see him again. Just like Heather gave her name to Philip, when—”
Timothy sat up sharply. “Peri–I think she’s going to be sick.”
“No,” gasped Rhosmari. “I just . . . give me a minute.” She breathed through her fingers until the worst of the nausea subsided, then wrapped both arms around her stomach, rocking a little. Timothy eased toward her, one hand hovering above her shoulder, but she shook her head and he backed away again.
“I’m sorry,” said Peri, looking blank. “I had no idea.”
No, Rhosmari thought, swallowing envy like bile, you didn’t. If either Peri or Heather had known what it was like to be controlled, they would never have dreamed of doing such a thing. Only ignorance–and infatuation–could explain their willingness to take such a terrible risk.
“Peri!” Paul’s deep voice reverberated along the corridor. “Thorn’s flashing us a message.”
Peri tossed her spyglass to Timothy. “Keep watch,” she said, and dashed out.
Timothy rolled off the bed and went to the window, brushing the curtain aside. “I don’t even know what she’s looking for,” he muttered. “It’s not like the Empress’s troops are going to fly over the house in formation just to let us know they’re here.”
Rhosmari swallowed again, her fingers clenching and unclenching in the bedspread. She looked about for a distraction–anything to push Peri’s words from her mind–and her eyes fell to a framed picture on Timothy’s nightstand. She picked it up for a closer look.
It showed a group of humans standing beneath an exotic-looking tree. A tall man leant against the trunk, his tanned face creased with maturity and gentle humor. He had one arm around the waist of a smiling woman, and his hand on the shoulder of a little girl–so these must be Timothy’s parents, and his sister Lydia. And next to them stood a young woman perhaps two years older than Rhosmari, her hair a mass of glossy braids and her skin a lustrous brown even deeper than Lady Celyn’s.
“Who is she?” asked Rhosmari, holding up the photograph. “The girl?”
Timothy lowered the spyglass. “Oh. That’s Miriam. Miriam Sewanaku, our neighbor back in Uganda.”
Rhosmari looked down at the picture again. “She’s beautiful,” she said.
“Yeah,” said Timothy, turning back to the window. Then he added, very softly, “But not as beautiful as you.”
Rhosmari’s eyes widened. Had he meant her to hear those words?
“He also thinks you’re brilliant and fascinating, if that helps,” said Paul as he wheeled up to the doorway. “We’re actually getting a little sick of hearing about it.” He spoke lightly, but his face was lined with tension. “Sorry to interrupt, but we’ve just had news from the Oak. Another faery’s gone missing.”
“Mallow, you mean?” asked Rhosmari. “That happened just before I—” But Paul cut her off with a shake of his head.
“Not Mallow,” he said. “Bluebell.”
•••
“It’s a good thing the Oakenfolk hadn’t yet realized you weren’t in the Oak, Rhosmari, or there’d have been a real panic,” said Peri, striding to meet them in the corridor. “Losing Bluebell is bad enough, but losing you would have been catastrophic. I’ve told Thorn you’re safe with us, but we’d better get you back there right away.”
“I don’t get it,” Timothy said, as the three of them headed downstairs. “Why would Bluebell disappear like that? She’s never left the Oakenwyld in her life. Where would she go?”
“Thorn thinks she went after Mallow,” replied Peri. She led them down the passage to the back of the house, then across to the far corner of the sitting room, where she flipped back the carpet to reveal a brass ring set into the floor. “Maybe to talk some sense into her, maybe to join her, no one knows. But the timing couldn’t be worse. They’re both likely to get caught by the Empress, if they haven’t been already.” She tugged the ring and a square of the wooden flooring lifted away, shedding crumbs of foam in its wake.
“What is that?” asked Rhosmari.
“The way out,” Peri said. “We made it for Linden when she was little, so she could visit us without having to dodge the crows. Make yourself small, crawl through this pipe, and it’ll bring you to a secret corridor that runs underneath the hedge all the way to the Oak.”
Crawl through this pipe. Into a black hole little wider than a human hand, with roots and damp earth pressing down upon her. “No, that’s all right,” Rhosmari said faintly. “I’ll just Leap back—”
“You can’t,” said Peri. “After Bluebell disappeared, Queen Valerian warded the Oak so that no one could get in or out using magic. You’d have to walk across the garden, and I’m not sending you out there in plain view of the Empress and all her servants. It’s too much of a risk.”
“Isn’t that a bit dramatic?” said Timothy. “We don’t know if they’re even there.”
“I know.” Peri’s expression was grim. “The only thing I’ve been looking for is a way to prove it.”
“Hunter’s instincts?” Timothy asked in a dubious tone.
“Something like that. There are too many shadows in the wood. And the wind smells different. You have to know a place before you know what’s normal and what isn’t–and I know the Oakenwyld better than anyone. Believe me, they’re out there.”
Rhosmari licked her lips and squeezed her hands together. She could not take her eyes off that missing square of floor, the round emptiness inside it. Walking into Gruffydd’s Way had been difficult, but this–this was impossible.
And yet she had promised Queen Valerian that she would lorecast the battle, and Campion, Linden and Wink were waiting for her to join them. And if she did not say goodbye to Garan and the others now, she might never get the chance again.
Timothy touched her shoulder. “Are you all right? You look sort of . . . green.”
“I don’t like small, dark places,” Rhosmari admitted with a nervous laugh. “I just need a moment to . . . to prepare.”
“Would it help if I went with you?” asked Timothy, and Peri said sharply, “Oh, no, you don’t.”
But Timothy had already walked into the kitchen and taken down the electric torch. “Why not? Hardly anybody knows that tunnel even exists, let alone that it goes all the way to the house. I’ll probably be safer down there than I am here.” And with that he pulled the wooden medallion out of his pocket, and dropped it around his neck.
Nothing happened. Emotions passed like clouds over Timothy’s face: puzzlement, alarm, and finally resignation. He reached to take off the medallion, but Rhosmari caught his wrist. “Wait,” she said.
Perhaps it was the magic within her, or just her desperate need not to go into that dark hole alone. But at the moment she touched him, the medallion’s power began to work–not only on Timothy, but on Rhosmari as well. The furniture around them swelled to gigantic size, and Peri loomed above them like an exasperated goddess.
“Fine,” she said. “But Timothy–as soon as she’s safely in the Oak, you turn around and come back here. Understood?”
Timothy switched on the torch and saluted Peri with it. Then he flung himself down on his belly and wriggled headfirst into the hole in the floor. “Follow me,” he called back to Rhosmari. “It’s not that far–I can see the other end of the pipe from here. I think.”
Peri kneeled, stooping close to Rhosmari. “It’s all right to be afraid,” she said in a low voice. “Just don’t let it stop you from doing what you have to do.”
Rhosmari gave a reluctant nod. Then she got down on her hands and knees, and crawled into the tunnel after Timothy.
•••
The pipe felt cool and smooth against her hands, its sides clammy with condensation. By the wavering beam of Timothy’s torch Rhosmari could see that it was made of some greyish substance that caught the light and reflected it dimly back. But Timothy’s head and shoulders were a wall of shadow, and she fought the impulse to whimper as he crawled ahead of her, moving too fast for her trembling arms and legs to keep up, leaving her behind in the growing dark—
Something snagged her skirt, wrenching her to a stop. She tried to pull free, to press onward, but her bones were vibrating with terror, and her muscles refused to obey.
