The Iron Legends

  I eased into the saddle and Ash swung up behind me, wrapping an arm securely around my waist, making my pulse beat faster in excitement.

  “Hold on,” he murmured as the horse started forward again. “We’re almost to the trod. Once we’re in the mortal realm, you can rest. We should be safe there.”

  “What’s following us?” I whispered, making the horse’s ears twitch back. Ash didn’t reply for several moments.

  “I don’t know,” he muttered, sounding reluctant to admit it. “Whatever it is, it’s persistent. We’ve been keeping a pretty steady pace and haven’t lost it yet.”

  “Why is it following us? What does it want?”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Ash’s grip around my waist tightened. “If it wants you, it’ll have to get past me first.”

  My stomach prickled, and my heart did a weird little flop. In that moment, I felt safe. My prince wouldn’t let anything happen to me. Settling back against him, I closed my eyes and let myself drift.

  I must have dozed off, for the next thing I knew Ash was shaking me gently. “Meghan, wake up,” he murmured, his cool breath fanning my neck. “We’re here.”

  Yawning, I looked at the small glade ahead of us. Without the cover of the trees, I could see the sky, dotted with stars. The glade was clear, except for one massive gnarled oak in the very center. Roots snaked out over the ground, huge thick things that prevented anything bigger than a fern to flourish. The trunk was wide and twisted, like three or four trees had been squashed together into one. But even with the oak’s size and dominating presence, I could see that it was dying. Its branches drooped, or had snapped off and were scattered about the base of the tree. Most of its broad, veined leaves were dead and brittle; the rest were a sickly yellow-brown. The glade, too, looked withered and sick, as if the tree was leeching life from the forest around it.

  “It wasn’t like this before,” Ash murmured behind me. I gazed at the dying tree and felt an incomprehensible sadness, as if I were seeing an old friend about to die. Shaking it off, I looked around for a doorway or gate, but the tree was the only thing here.

  “Will it still work?” I wondered as he urged the horse into the clearing, toward the ancient tree. “The trod, I mean. Will it open?”

  “We’ll see.” Ash dismounted and led the horse up to the trunk. When it stopped, I slid out of the saddle and joined him.

  “So, how does the trod work?” I asked, peering at the trunk for a door of some kind. Doors in trees were not unusual in the Nevernever. In fact, during my first time to Faeryland, I’d spent the night in a wood sprite’s tree, somehow shrinking down to the size of a bug to fit through his door. “I don’t see a gate. How do you get it to open?”

  “Easy,” Ash replied. “We just ask.”

  Ignoring my scowl, he faced the trunk and put a hand on the rough bark. “This is Ash,” he said clearly, “third son of the Unseelie Court, requesting passage to the mortal realm and the clearing of the Elder.”

  “Please,” I added.

  For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a loud groaning and creaking, one of the massive roots snaked out of the ground, shedding dirt and twigs. Rising into the air, it formed an archway between itself and the ground, and the space between shimmered with magic.

  “There’s your trod,” Ash murmured, as my heart beat faster in my chest. Puck was through that gateway. If he was still alive.

  Clutching Ash’s hand, almost pulling him along in my impatience, I ducked through the arch.

  I tripped over a root on the other side and stumbled forward, barely catching myself. Straightening, I gazed around the moonlit grove of New Orleans City Park, recognizing the huge mossy oaks from our last visit. The air was humid, warm and peaceful. Crickets buzzed, leaves rustled and moonlight shimmered off the nearby lake. Nothing had changed. It had been this peaceful the last time we were here, though my world had been falling apart.

  Ash touched my arm and nodded at a tree, where a willowy girl with moss-green skin watched us from the shadow of an oak, her dark eyes wide and startled.

  “Meghan Chase?” The dryad swayed toward us, moving like a wind-blown branch. “What are you doing here?” I blinked at the fear in her voice. “You must not stay!” she hissed as she drew close. “It is not safe. There is something dangerous following you.”

  “We know,” Ash said beside me, calm and unflustered as always. The dryad blinked and shifted her gaze to him. “But we came through the Elder gate, so hopefully she won’t let whatever is hunting us into this world.”

  Elder gate? I glanced behind me, and my stomach twisted so hard I felt nauseous.

  It was the Elder Dryad’s tree, the great oak that once stood tall and proud, looming over the others. Now, like its twin in the clearing, it was dying. Its branches were bare of leaves, the shaggy moss that covered it brown and dead.

  A lump rose to my throat. I remembered the Elder Dryad from our first visit here: an old, grandmotherly fey with a soft voice and kind eyes who had given the very heart of her tree to make sure I could rescue my brother. And kill the faery who’d kidnapped him. The Elder had known she would die if she helped me. But she gave us the weapon we needed to take down the enemy fey and get Ethan back.

  The dryad girl stepped beside me, gazing at the dying oak. “She lives still,” she murmured, her voice like the whisper of leaves. “Dying, yes. Too weak to leave her tree, she sleeps now, dreaming of her youth. But not gone, not yet. It will take a long time for her to fade completely.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

  “No, Meghan Chase.” The dryad shook her head with a faint rustling sound, and a shiny beetle crawled across her face to burrow into her hair. “She knew. She knew all along what was going to happen. The wind tells us these things. Just as it tells us you are in terrible danger now.” She suddenly fixed me with piercing black eyes. “You should not be here,” she said firmly. “It is very close. Why have you come?”

  My skin prickled, but I shook off the feeling of trepidation and held her gaze. “I’m here for Puck. I need to see him.”

  The dryad’s expression softened. “Ah. Yes, of course. I will take you to him, but I fear you will be disappointed.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” I felt cold, even in the warm summer night. “I just want to see him.”

  The dryad nodded and shuffled back, swaying in the breeze. “This way.”

  Chapter Two

  THE HEART OF THE OAK

  Puck, or the infamous Robin Goodfellow, as he was known in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, had another name, once. A human name, belonging to a lanky, red-haired boy, who had been the neighbor of a shy farm girl in the Louisiana bayou. Robbie Goodfell, as he called himself back then, had been my classmate, confidant and best friend. Always looking out for me, like an older brother. Goofy, sarcastic and somewhat overprotective, Robbie was…different. When he wasn’t around, people barely remembered him, who he was, what he looked like. It was like he simply faded from their memories, despite the fact that whenever anything went wrong in school—mice in desks, superglue on chairs, an alligator in the bathrooms one day—Robbie was somehow involved. No one ever suspected him, but I always knew.

  Still, it came as a shock when I discovered who he really was: King Oberon’s servant, charged with keeping an eye on me in the mortal world. To keep me safe from those who would harm a half-human daughter of Oberon. But also, to keep me blind to the world of Faery, ignorant and unaware of my true nature
, and all the danger that came with it.

  When Ethan was kidnapped and taken into the Nevernever, Robbie’s plans to keep me blind and ignorant unraveled. Defying Oberon’s direct orders, he agreed to help me rescue my brother, but his loyalty came at a huge cost. During a battle with an Iron faery, a brand-new species of fey born from technology and progress, he was shot and very nearly killed. Ash and I brought him here, to City Park, and the dryads took him into one of their trees to sleep and heal from his wounds. Suspended in stasis, the dryads kept him alive, but they didn’t know when he would wake up. If he woke up at all. We had to leave him behind when we left to rescue Ethan, and the guilt of that decision had haunted me ever since.

  I pressed my palm against the mossy trunk, wondering if I could feel his heartbeat within the tree, a vibration, a sigh. Something, anything, that told me he was still there. But I felt nothing except sap, moss and the rough edges of the bark. Puck, if he still lived, was far from my reach.

  “Are you sure he’s in there?” I asked the dryad, not taking my eyes from the trunk. I didn’t know what to expect: his head to pop out of the wood and grin at me, perhaps? But I felt that if I took my eyes away for a second, I would miss something.

  The dryad girl nodded. “Yes. He lives still. Nothing has changed. Robin Goodfellow sleeps his dreamless slumber, waiting for the day he will rejoin the world.”

  “When will that be?” I asked, running my fingers down the trunk.

  “We do not know. Perhaps days. Perhaps centuries. Perhaps he does not want to wake up.” The dryad placed her hand on the trunk and closed her eyes. “He is resting comfortably, in no pain. There is nothing you can do for him but wait, and be patient.”

  Unsatisfied with her answer, I pressed my palm against the tree and closed my eyes. Summer glamour swirled around me, the magic of my father, Oberon, and the Summer court, the glamour of heat and earth and living things. I prodded the tree gently, feeling the sun-warmed leaves and the life running through their emerald veins. I felt thousands of tiny insects swarming over and burrowing into the trunk, the rapid heartbeat of birds, dreaming in the branches.

  I pressed deeper, past the surface, past the softer, still-growing wood, deep into the heart of the tree.

  And there he was. I couldn’t physically see him, of course, but I could sense him, feel his presence in front of me, a bright spot of life against the heartwood. I felt the wood cradling his thin, lanky frame, protecting it, and heard the faintest thump-thump of a beating heart. Puck hovered limply, his chin on his chest and his eyes closed. He seemed much smaller in sleep, fragile and ghostlike, as if a breath could blow him away.

  I drifted closer, reaching out to touch him, brushing insubstantial fingers over his cheek, pushing back unruly red bangs. He didn’t stir. If I didn’t hear his heartbeat, vibrating faintly through the tree, I would’ve thought he was already dead.

  “I’m so sorry, Puck,” I whispered, or maybe I just thought it, deep inside the giant oak. “I wish you were here with me now. I’m scared, and I don’t know what’s going to happen. I really need you to come back.”

  If he heard me, he didn’t show it. There was no flicker of eyelids, no twitch of his head responding to my voice. Puck remained limp and motionless, his heartbeat calm and steady, echoing through the wood. My best friend was far from me, beyond my reach, and I couldn’t bring him back.

  Depressed, feeling strangely sick, I pulled out of the tree, returning to my own body. As the sounds of the world returned, I found myself fighting back tears. So close. So close to Puck, and still so far away.

  Ash’s expression was grave as I met his eyes; he knew what I’d done, and could guess the outcome.

  “He’s still alive,” he told me. “That’s all you can hope for.” I sniffed, turning away, and Ash sighed. “Don’t worry too much about him, Meghan. Robin Goodfellow has always been extraordinarily difficult to kill.” His voice hovered between irritation and amusement, as if he spoke from experience. “I can almost guarantee Goodfellow will pop up one day when you least expect it, just be patient.”

  “Patience,” said an amused voice somewhere over my head, “has never been the girl’s strong suit.”

  Startled, I looked up, into the branches of the oak. A pair of familiar golden eyes peered down at me, attached to nothing else, and my heart leaped.

  “Grimalkin?”

  The eyes blinked slowly, and the body of a large gray cat appeared, crouched on one of the lower branches. It was Grimalkin, the faery cat I met on my last journey to Faery. Grim had helped me out a few times in the past…but his help always came with a price. The cat loved collecting favors and did nothing for free, but I was still happy to see him, even if I still owed him a debt or two from our last adventure.

  “What are you doing here, Grim?” I asked as the feline yawned and stretched, arching his fluffy tail over his back. True to form, Grimalkin finished stretching, sat down and gave his fur several licks before deigning to reply.

  “I had business with the Elder Dryad,” he replied in a bored voice. “I needed to know if she’d heard anything about the whereabouts of a certain individual.” Grim scratched behind an ear, examined his back toes and gave them a lick. “Then I heard that you were on your way here, so I thought I would wait, to see if it was true. You have always proved most entertaining.”

  “But…the Elder Dryad is asleep,” I said, frowning. “They told me she’s too weak to even come out of her tree.”

  “What is your point, human?”

  “Never mind.” I shook my head. Grimalkin was exasperating and secretive, and I learned long ago he wouldn’t share anything until he was ready. “It’s still good to see you, Grim. Wish we could stay and talk awhile, but we’re in sort of a hurry right now.”

  “Mmm, yes. Your ill-contrived deal with the Winter prince.” Grimalkin’s eyes shifted to Ash and back to me, blinking slowly. “Hasty and reckless, just like a human.” He sniffed, staring straight at Ash, now. “But…I would have thought that you knew better, Prince.”

  Before I could ask what he meant by that, I felt a hand on my arm and turned to meet Ash’s solemn gaze. “We should go,” he murmured, and though his voice was firm, his expression was apologetic. “If something is chasing us, we should try to make it to Tir Na Nog as soon as we can. It won’t be able to follow us, then. And I can protect you better in my own territory than the wyldwood or the mortal realm.”

  “One moment.” Grimalkin yawned and sidled down from the tree, landing noiselessly on the roots. “If you are leaving now, I believe I will come with you. At least part of the way.”

  “Really?” I stared at him, surprised. “You’re going to Tir Na Nog? Why?”

  “I told you before. I am looking for someone.”

  “Who?”

  “You ask a wearying amount of questions, human.” Grimalkin hopped down from the roots and trotted off, tail in the air. Several yards away, he glanced back over his shoulder, twitching an ear. “Well? Are you coming or not? If you say there is something after you, it would make sense not to be here when it comes to call, yes?”

  Ash and I shared a bemused look and trailed after him.

  The Elder Gate loomed before us, tall and imposing even though the tree was dying. As we approached, the entire trunk suddenly shifted with a groan. A face pushed its way out of the bark, old and wrinkled, part of the tree come to life. The Elder Dryad opened her eyes, squinting as though it was difficult to focus, and her gaze fastene
d on me.

  “Nooooooooo,” she breathed, barely a whisper in the darkness. “You must not go back this way. He waits for you on the other side. He will…” Her voice trailed off, and her face sank back into the wood, vanishing from sight. “Run,” was the last thing I heard.

  I shivered all the way down to my toes. Ash immediately took my hand and drew me away, striding in the opposite direction, his body tense like a coiled wire. Grimalkin slipped after us, a gray ghost in the shadows, the fur on his tail standing on end. It would’ve been funny if I didn’t feel eyes on the back of my neck, old, savage and patient, watching us flee into the night.

  Ash paused beneath the limbs of another oak, put his fingers to his lips and let out a piercing whistle. Moments later, the fey horse trotted out of the shadows, snorting and tossing its head, skidding to a stop before us.

  “Where are we going now?” I asked, as Ash helped me into the saddle.

  “We can’t use the Elder Gate to get back,” the prince replied, swinging up behind me. “We’ll have to find another way into the Nevernever. And quickly.” He gathered the reins in one hand and snaked an arm around my waist. “I know of another trod that will take us close to Tir Na Nog, but it’s in a part of the city that’s…dangerous for Summer fey.”

  “You are speaking of the Dungeon, are you not?” Grimalkin said, appearing suddenly in my lap, curled up like he belonged. I blinked in surprise. “Are you sure you want to take the girl there?”

  “Not much choice, now.” Tightening his grip on my waist, Ash kicked the horse forward, and we galloped into the streets of New Orleans.

  * * *

  I’d forgotten what it was like to be a half faery in the real world, or at least in the company of a powerful, full-blooded fey. The horse trotted down brightly lit streets, weaving through cars and alleyways and people, and no one saw us. No one even glanced our way. Regular humans couldn’t see the faery world, though it was all around them. Like the two goblins sifting through a spilled Dumpster in an alley, gnawing on bones and other things I didn’t want to dwell on. Or the dragonfly-winged sylph perched atop a telephone pole, watching the streets with the intensity of an eagle observing her territory. We nearly ran into a group of dwarves leaving one of the many pubs on Bourbon Street. The short, bearded men shouted drunken curses as the horse swerved, barely missing them, and galloped away down the sidewalk.