Wayfarer

  “What,” said Thorn’s flat voice from the Stair above, “in the name of all that’s green and growing—”

  Linden whirled toward her, dancing with excitement. “The Children of Rhys, Thorn! They’ve come to help us!”

  Thorn stalked around the last bend of the Stair and stopped, surveying Garan and his companions. Her gaze darted from one male faery to another, taking in their strong features and close-trimmed beards, the swords at their belts and the bows slung across their shoulders. Then she sat down slowly, her eyes glassy with disbelief, and for once she didn’t say anything at all.

  “If we restore the magic Jasmine took from you,” said Garan as he and his followers stood before the Oakenfolk gathered in the Great Hall, “the task will cost us dearly of our own magical strength, and we will need several days to recover. We will never be as powerful as we once were, nor will your own magic be as great as that of the Empress and her followers—but yes, it can be done.”

  Linden threw her arms around Wink and hugged her, and Thorn actually whooped before turning it into a cough. “We would be glad,” Valerian began—but Bluebell’s voice cut in:

  “You forget yourself, Healer! We are not humans, to take from one another without giving in return: We are faeries, to whom a bargain is sacred. How dare we accept help from these strangers, when we have no means to repay them?”

  The pleasure faded from Valerian’s face, and her gray eyes became downcast. “Bluebell is right,” she said. “Forgive me, I beg of you—I spoke too soon.”

  “There is nothing to forgive,” said Garan, with a swift glance at Bluebell. “We did not come to you seeking wealth or goods that we could take back to our own land; rather, it is our hope that you will accept us as your subjects, and allow us to dwell among you. For by leaving the Gwerdonnau Llion we have made ourselves exiles, and if you do not give us a home, then I cannot think where I and my men will go.”

  Valerian’s smile returned, wavering with emotion. She stepped forward and held out her hand to Garan.

  “There is ample room for you all here,” she said. “And as Queen of the Oakenfolk I welcome you, with all my heart.”

  Garan took Valerian’s hand and kissed it, then bent on one knee before her with head bowed and both arms spread wide. Immediately all the other men in his company did likewise, although Broch’s mouth gave a self-mocking twist as he went down.

  Valerian looked back at the crowd of Oakenfolk behind her. No one moved, until Wink hurried forward and knelt as the Children of Rhys had done. Thorn joined her, and Campion quickly followed. One by one, and then in pairs and clusters, all the Oakenfolk knelt until only Bluebell and Mallow were left standing. And when after an uncomfortable pause the Chief Cook shrugged and bent her knee as well, Bluebell let out a little sob and collapsed to the floor beside her, defeated.

  The Oakenfolk had acknowledged their rightful Queen at last.

  The moon hung high over the Oakenwyld, bathing the garden in silvery light. Timothy stood on the veranda with Peri and Paul, watching as a line of tiny, winged figures emerged from the roots of the Oak and joined the waiting Children of Rhys on the lawn. Even from this distance it was easy to recognize Linden by her brown curls and the eager spring in her step; he waved to her, and she waved back.

  He turned to Peri, wanting to ask her if they couldn’t go a little closer—but then he saw the wistful look on her face and swallowed the question.

  Paul must have noticed his wife’s expression as well, because a moment later he said quietly, “You could ask them, you know.”

  Peri did not take her gaze from the Oakenfolk. “Ask what?”

  “To make you a faery again.”

  That got her attention; she swung around to look at him, frowning. “What makes you think—”

  “I don’t think,” said Paul, “I know. Of course you miss it sometimes; why wouldn’t you? I’m just saying that if the Children of Rhys have enough power to undo Jasmine’s spell on the Oakenfolk, maybe they have some to spare for you, too.” Then, as Peri looked troubled, he added gently, “It’s not as though I’m asking you to leave me. You’re still my wife, whether you can change size and do magic or not. But they’re your people.”

  For a moment Peri did not reply; then her lips firmed, and she shook her head. “No,” she said. “If the Oakenfolk are going to survive, they’ll need every bit of power that Garan and his people can give them. Besides”—she took a deep breath—“I made my choice to become human fourteen years ago. I wouldn’t go back on it now, even if I could.”

  “Not even if it meant you could fly again?” Paul asked.

  Timothy held his breath, but to his surprise, Peri smiled. “Who says I can’t fly? The moment this business with the Empress is over, I’m buying an airplane ticket.” Then her face grew serious again and she said, “But truly, I wasn’t feeling sorry for myself. I was feeling sorry for them. Look at their faces.”

  Timothy studied each of the faeries in turn, and he could see what Peri meant. Linden and Wink were both glowing with excitement, and even Thorn looked grudgingly pleased; but many of the other Oakenfolk seemed nervous, and a few—like Bluebell, and the hard-faced faery next to her, who had to be Mallow—appeared wary and even resentful about what was taking place.

  “I’m afraid Valerian’s going to have her work cut out for her,” Peri said. “A lot of the Oakenfolk don’t like change…and now everything about their lives is changing at once.”

  “But having the Children of Rhys join them, and getting their magic back again—it’s so obviously for the better,” said Timothy. “How can they object to that?”

  “Because it’s new,” said Peri. “It’s different. It’s frightening. And no matter what happens now, there’s no way any of them can go back to the way things used to be.”

  Timothy was silent, digesting her words. Then Paul said, “It looks like they’re about to start. Come on, let’s move a bit closer.”

  By now Garan had shepherded all the faeries into a rough circle, arranging it so that all the Oakenfolk had at least one of the Children of Rhys beside them. As the last thin veil of cloud slid from the moon’s luminous face, he turned and addressed them:

  “The time has come.” He stepped back beside Linden, holding out his hand to her; she took it, and stretched out her own hand to Wink on the other side. The other faeries hesitantly did likewise, and in a moment the whole circle was joined.

  Linden’s heart pounded, and her breath came shallowly between her parted lips. She’d received magic from another faery before, but Amaryllis had been just one dying woman, and the Children of Rhys were strong and many. Would it hurt? What if one of the Oakenfolk panicked, or changed her mind at the last moment, and broke the circle?

  “Linden,” murmured Wink in a pained tone, “you’re squeezing my fingers.”

  “Sorry,” Linden whispered, and forced herself to relax.

  Beside her Garan stood with eyes closed, his brow furrowed in concentration. For a long moment no one moved, and the Oakenwyld was eerily silent. Then Linden saw it: A glimmer of light on the far side of the circle, a slowly expanding radiance that spread from Broch to Thorn and Campion, from Llinos to Mallow and Bluebell…and now the magic was glowing around her too, tingling hot and cold as it swept over her skin and swirled into her muscles and bones. Amaryllis’s dying gift of glamour had thrilled her, but that had been a scant half share of a magic already weak with use and age. To compare it to the power flowing through her now…It was like comparing water to wine.

  Still the energy built, until every pore in her body sang with it, and the circle of faeries blazed so bright she had to shut her eyes. The magic was too strong now, too much—any more, and she would faint, or explode—

  Garan’s hand slackened in hers, and the light died abruptly as the circle wavered and broke. One after another, the Children of Rhys sagged to their knees and toppled onto the grass, unconscious.

  The Oakenfolk all looked at one another, and Linden
saw an apprehension on Valerian’s face that mirrored her own. Had the magic transfer worked, or not?

  “Look!” came a hysterical-sounding voice from beside her, and she turned to see Wink spreading a length of shimmering, gold-toned silk between her outstretched hands—cloth that seemed to have spun itself out of nowhere. On the other side of the circle Campion had grown to human size and was regarding her far-off toes in amazement, while Thorn rubbed her hands at a bonfire she had kindled on the grass. Faery lights danced through the air; a cluster of violets pushed their way out of the cold ground and stood nodding in the midnight breeze; a roast fit for the Midwinter Feast floated by, so real-looking that Linden could almost smell it.

  Jasmine’s curse was undone, and the Oakenfolk had their magic again.

  Epilogue

  “Here,” said Timothy, slinging the strap of his guitar around Linden’s shoulders. They’d just finished having tea with Paul and Peri and were sitting on the veranda, savoring the first warm day of spring. “You’ve been listening to me play long enough—now you have a go.”

  Linden hesitated, hands hovering above the strings. Then she shook her head and handed it back. “It’s all right,” she said. “I don’t think it’s for me, somehow.” Much as she enjoyed hearing Timothy play, she felt no compulsion to do likewise; unlike the powerful bond that had drawn Paul and Peri together and sparked them both to artistic brilliance, the best her faery powers could do was make Timothy’s natural talent for music a little stronger. But that was quite normal, or so Queen Valerian had assured her; and seeing that Timothy would be leaving Oakhaven in another few days, it was probably for the best.

  “If you say so,” said Timothy as he took the guitar back, but he looked a little disappointed. “Anyway, how are Garan and the others?”

  “Doing better, but they’re still tired most of the time. The Queen says it’ll be a few more days at least until they all recover.”

  “Good thing there’s still no sign of the Empress, then.” Timothy ran his thumb over the strings, winced and adjusted one of the tuning pegs.

  “I just wish,” said Linden as she watched a robin flutter down to land atop the box hedge, “that we knew what had happened to Rob.”

  Timothy gave a little laugh. “Me too. Especially since I’m going to have to go back through London in a week or two, and if I’m going to be attacked it would be nice to know about it. I think I’ll stuff a few bits of iron into my pockets, just in case.” He slipped the guitar strap over his head and began to play again, softly.

  “Did you ever talk to your parents?” asked Linden. “About…you know.”

  “I sent them an email this morning,” Timothy said. “I told them I’d been suspended for a couple of weeks, but not to worry, I’d be fine.”

  Linden looked at him curiously. “And are you?”

  Timothy was silent a moment, his hands flat on the guitar. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “I still miss Uganda. I still don’t fit in with the other boys at school, and I’m not sure I want to. I still wonder whether everything I grew up believing is really the truth, and I know it’s going to take me a lot of searching and thinking to decide. But”—he took a deep breath—“I’m here now, and I’m going to stick it out. At Greenhill, I mean, unless they decide to expel me. I’ve had enough of running away.”

  Linden tucked her arm into his and leaned her head on his shoulder. “I’m glad,” she said.

  Timothy looked down at her. Then he took off the guitar and carefully put it aside. “Look,” he said. “I don’t want to…what I mean is…I like you, but there’s this girl back home, and…”

  “Miriam,” said Linden. “I know. I saw the way you looked at her picture.” She let go of him and sat up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I suppose I still have a lot to learn about how to behave around males.” She thought of the way she’d flung herself at Garan when he’d first arrived, and her cheeks grew hot. Did he think that she had those kinds of feelings for him, too?

  “Well, with thirty-eight of them in the Oak now I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually,” said Timothy. “And believe me, if I ever get girls figured out, I’ll let you know.”

  Linden laughed—but the sound died on her lips as the robin in the hedge flapped down onto the veranda, shimmered, and became a lanky young man with fox-colored hair. His eyes were shadowed with weariness and he bore a thin white scar across one cheek, but when he spoke, he sounded as wryly self-possessed as ever:

  “If you do that, human boy, you will have achieved a victory indeed.” And with that he pulled a wallet out of his pocket, and tossed it to Timothy.

  “Rob!” Linden leaped up to greet him—but then she faltered and hung back, suddenly shy. “I’m glad,” she stammered. “To see you, I mean.”

  He held her gaze steadily, brows lifting in speculation; then he took her hand and brushed it with his lips. “And I to see you,” he said, his smile deepening as he watched her blush. “I would have come sooner, but I and my allies needed time to regroup and discuss our plans—and I also wanted to be certain that my feet would be sufficiently beautiful when I came.”

  “Your feet…?” asked Linden dazedly, but then Timothy snorted and she realized Rob was quoting one of the Bible verses Timothy had used before the Empress. How beautiful are the feet of those who bring… “Oh! You mean—you have good news?”

  “For now,” Rob said. “The Empress and her followers have been forced to abandon Sanctuary, and seek a new stronghold elsewhere. We rebels are still few in number compared to her forces, but our strength is growing by the day—especially now that word of the Stone of Naming is beginning to spread.”

  “So the Empress is in retreat,” said Timothy, looking up from his inspection of his wallet. “Which means we’re safe for now.”

  Rob nodded. “But that peace cannot last long, especially when the Oakenfolk have no magic to defend themselves. Which is why I thought—” He stopped short, staring, as Linden picked up a dry twig from the ground and touched it into bloom.

  “I think you’ll find,” she said, “that problem has already been taken care of.”

  “What?” demanded Rob. He snatched the twig from her fingers and examined it incredulously. “This is no mere glamour. How did you get this power?”

  “The Children of Rhys,” replied Linden proudly. “Or at least, a few of them. They’ve decided to join us and help us defend the Oak.”

  Rob let the twig drop, and now he looked bitter. “Then I have come too late.”

  “Too late?” Linden was puzzled, and then she suddenly understood. “Rob! You mean that you and the rebels—you’d decided to help us by giving us some of your magic, too? But I thought—”

  I thought you still considered us the Forsaken. I thought you didn’t want anything to do with humans, or faeries who would befriend them—and that you’d only helped us so that you could get the Stone. Not to mention what the Empress had said about where Rob had got his musical abilities…

  “For years I have tried to convince myself that humans are inferior,” said Rob, “and that faeries do no wrong to use them. I had my own reasons for wanting this to be true, but I prefer not to speak of that.” A muscle jumped in his cheek. “Suffice it to say that on the night you and I first met, even as I parroted the Empress’s doctrines to you my heart knew them to be false.”

  Linden felt a rush of amazed relief. To think that Rob had seemed so certain of his beliefs about humans, even treating her condescendingly for thinking otherwise—she would never have guessed he was hiding such deep-seated doubts.

  “I will not pretend to believe as you do,” Rob went on, his eyes still holding hers, “that the Great Gardener created us to help humans. But I do agree that neither of our peoples can prosper unless we work together.” He drew himself up straighter. “So I came to offer the Oakenfolk whatever magic or other help you might require—but I also hoped that by doing so, I might earn the right to bargain.”

&n
bsp; “Bargain?” asked Linden. “For what?”

  “Sanctuary is no longer ours,” said Rob, “any more than it belongs to the Empress. We need a new place to live and make our stronghold, and I had hoped the Oak—”

  Linden could contain herself no longer. She darted forward and threw her arms around Rob, hugging him exuberantly. At first he stiffened in surprise, but then he relaxed and returned her embrace, dropping his face against her hair.

  “I take it,” he murmured, “this means we are still open to negotiation?”

  Timothy watched, half smiling, as Linden took Rob by the hand and led him across the lawn toward the Oak, enthusing about magic and battle strategy all the while. Then he picked up his guitar and went back into the house.

  “Is that what I think it was?” said Peri, emerging from the corridor. Her pale hair was disheveled and she looked flushed, as though she had been working.

  “Not sure,” said Timothy as he headed for the kitchen. “What were you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking that Linden is fifteen,” said Peri darkly, “and that Rob had better watch his step. But aside from that—what are you doing?”

  Timothy dropped his wallet on the counter; then he picked up the telephone receiver and started pressing buttons.

  “I’m calling home,” he said.

  Acknowledgments

  My heartfelt thanks to my agents, Josh and Tracey Adams, and to my editors, Catherine Onder at HarperCollins US and Sarah Lilly at Orchard Books UK, for their support and guidance. I am also indebted to my Canadian publicist Melissa Zilberberg for all her hard work on my behalf.

  I am grateful to Claudia Gray, who helped me brainstorm and refine the plot in its earliest stages; to my crack beta-reading team of Liz Barr, Brittany Harrison, Meg Burden, Saundra Mitchell, Kerrie Mills, Erin Fitzgerald, Teri (Krenek) Guill, Emily Bytheway, and Sylvia Thomas; and also to the 2009 Debs aka the Feast of Awesome, for helping me sail the choppy waters of publication.