by Richard Due
It was glowing, as before: a firefly in swirling amber. When the spark popped out this time, Faerathil formed faster, landing smartly on her feet, holding out her arms and wings for balance, like a gymnast planting a perfect landing. Standing up, she snapped her dusty gray wings around her body. This time, picking her steps carefully on the mossy terrain, Faerathil looked up through the branches of the tree for a long time, a look of wonder filling her small, bright blue eyes.
“Quite the trick, my little giantess.” When she said the word “little,” she pronounced it LEE-tle, in a way that sounded subtly disrespectful.
The moon coin translated Faerathil’s language perfectly. Lily’s heart quickened. She didn’t know what to say, but she was so excited she could barely keep from squealing every time Faerathil spoke. If the bedtime tales of Faerathil were accurate, then dealing with her could be as troublesome as dealing with Curse. Possibly even worse, since Faerathil was in Lily’s bedroom. Lily skimmed through all the Faerathil tales she could remember—and there were many; Faerathil was her favorite subject from the Moon Realm, and Uncle Ebb had no short supply of fabulous tales about her.
“Your Majesty,” said Lily, having now remembered the correct address.
Faerathil’s head twitched toward Lily. “Ah, I see you have found your tongue,” she said regally, as she inspected the trunk of the bonsai tree, picking at it with a taloned thumb and forefinger.
“Be careful with that!” Lily blurted.
“Or vhat?” asked Faerathil, menacingly stroking her fingers up and down the tree.
Or I’ll never let you out of that little ball again! thought Lily.
“You must not harm the tree,” said Lily, cringing inwardly even before the last word had left her lips. Had that sounded too much like a command?
Faerathil sneered, displaying her upper fangs menacingly. Then she stepped away from the tree, adopting a completely different demeanor. Placing a palm on her hip, she sauntered to the edge of the wooden slab, innocently touching an index finger to her chin and looking away coyly.
Lily didn’t like the looks of this.
Faerathil displayed her fangs in an ingratiating smile. “All of this . . . this is far beyond the workings of some leetle giantess. Am I not right?”
Lily liked the idea of Faerathil misconstruing her level of power. Being a “leetle giantess” could have its benefits. And yet, she knew she couldn’t afford to be caught in a lie. Not by Faerathil, anyway. Lying to a person was one thing, but lying to a faerie—any faerie—was quite another. Faeries didn’t forgive, and they expected complete loyalty from those they interacted with. If Faerathil caught Lily in a lie, there would be no undoing it. Faerathil would become an enemy for life.
And yet, would Faerathil consider an omission a lie? How much could Lily leave out and still be safe? The weakness of lying is the difficulty of remembering the lie . . . which is why, of course, the power of truth rests in how easily it is remembered. And as everyone knows, the more the teller repeats the lie—the longer the deceptions continue—the more confused the liar herself becomes. Many times, at a young age, Lily would catch herself about to correct a lie she’d told years before. There was twice as much to remember for a teller of lies. But faeries . . . did Lily really want to test Faerathil’s memory against her own?
Faerathil’s smile froze, and as Lily continued to stare, she saw how much Faerathil’s face was like an Escher drawing—viewed one way it was as fair as any Lily had ever seen or imagined, and yet, without so much as the twitching of a muscle, it was equally terrible.
“Enough of this!” screamed Faerathil, her irises flaring red. “Whom do you serve?”
Lily jumped.
“I—I serve myself.”
“Ah! A mercenary!” said Faerathil admiringly, her irises calming to a cold blue. “Oh, I see. Out for yourself. In control of your own des-tin-ee. Very good.” As Faerathil’s face melted back into a sneer, her irises shifted to purple, then orange, then flaming red. “And I suppose this tree just dropped out of the sky and fell into your lap one day!” she shrieked. “You are in league with him! Out with it! You cannot fool me!” She pointed a black talon at Lily’s nose.
“In league with whom?”
“Wriiiiiiiithroooooong,” hissed Faerathil.
“You mean Wrengfoul?” asked Lily.
“Wrengfoul?” Faerathil’s lip curled and twitched. “Zhat is not his name. His name is Writhrong! Everyone knows zhat, or should! Now tell me where your allegiance lies, and do not try to deceive me!”
“I might be from Dain,” Lily confessed, and, for the first time, she let it sink in as she said it.
“Might? Don’t speak to me in riddles. Or lies! You’re obviously a giantess. And the largest, by far, I have ever seen!”
“No, I’m not.” Lily tried to think of a diplomatic way to correct her, but none leapt immediately to mind. “It’s not so much that I’m a . . . um . . . giant.” Faerathil bared her sharp, white teeth and hissed. “It’s more like you’re . . . ah . . . like you’re small.”
The Faerie Queen’s eyes flashed venom.
“Listen to me,” continued Lily. “I’m telling you the truth. This tree is a bonsai. It’s only about two and half feet tall. I brought you here. For some reason, the tree has given you the power to leave the crystal ball. The thing is . . . you’re only about six inches tall.”
“Enough!” screamed Faerathil, her long black tresses spiking outward from her scalp. “You know not to whom you speak! I am Faerathil! The Faerie Queen! I can boil your blood with a wave of my hand!” Lily watched her, rapt, and caught herself thinking, This is sooooo great!
“In my realm, there is nothing more powerful than ME!” Faerathil spoke a word the moon coin couldn’t translate, and she made a gesture with her hands to the crystal sphere. A new light kindled within it.
Lily sat up straighter. “Faerathil? What are you doing?”
“You booooore me,” said Faerathil, giving Lily a tired smile. “Dain lunamancer, you say? Let’s see how you deal with one of my minions.”
“Wait! You’re bringing someone here? You have others in there with you?” Lily pointed to the crystal sphere, which was growing brighter.
“Let’s see how you deal with my Morgoroth!” trilled Faerathil insanely.
“Morgoroth?” stammered Lily. “Morgoroth! As in Morgoroth the Devourer, Keeper of the Magic Flame?’”
“You’ve heard of him? Good!” said Faerathil happily.
“But, Faerathil—”
“I am Your Majesty!”
“But, Your Majesty, isn’t Morgoroth—like—as big as a house?”
“Your problem, not mine.”
“But if you destroy this house—”
Faerathil spoke the final word of her incantation and made an upward, pulling motion, calling forth the great dragon Morgoroth. The light within the crystal blazed bright.
Pock!
And then went dark.
Faerathil’s face fell, her shoulders slumped, and after taking several steps toward the darkened sphere, she wheeled on Lily and shot her a savage look.
“Vhat have you done to my powers!”
Lily snatched up the wooden ball, crystal and all. “I think it’s time you got back in here. You need to think things over a little better.”
Faerathil’s eyes showed the faintest hint of pale yellow. “Put that back!” she wailed, and took to the air. Before Lily could leap away, Faerathil had landed on her hand and sunk her fangs into the soft flesh between Lily’s thumb and forefinger. Lily let out a short scream, lurched to her feet, and ran from the tree. At the same distance as before, Faerathil vanished in a brilliant flash of blue faerie dust. Lily snapped the lid shut. Still wincing from the pain of Faerathil’s bite, Lily quickly set the latch. Only then did she br
eathe a sigh of relief.
“Damn you, Faerathil,” said Lily, sucking her bleeding hand. Tossing the ball on the bed, Lily vaguely wondered if faerie germs were any worse than those found on Earth.
Chapter Seventeen
A Sword is Drawn
“Here!” said Lily, hurling the balled-up necklace at Jasper’s chest.
Jasper barely got his hands up in time. “Whoa! You all right?”
“Oom Fooon!” she mumbled, sucking at the side of her hand, her eyes dark and angry.
“What did you say?” asked Jasper.
Lily slowly removed her bleeding hand from her mouth. “I said, I’m fine,” she said, not sounding at all fine.
Before Jasper could speak, Lily slammed the door in his face.
Staring at his door, Jasper wondered briefly if he should investigate what had gotten into his sister. But he had the necklace, and the look in Lily’s eyes told him he didn’t want to hear the story about her bloodied hand, so he quietly locked the door instead.
Now was the time. Jasper pulled back the covers on his bed. He picked up the greaves first, donning them over his jeans. The vambraces were more difficult. He’d planned to enlist Lily’s help with them, but eventually, he was satisfied they were tight enough. The riding cloak came next, and then the helm and sword. Lastly, he tucked things into all his pockets: a flashlight, the camera, notebooks and pencils, LUNA Bars, a penknife, and several other small items he thought might come in handy.
Since Jasper had filled out in the last few years, the upper limbs of the tree outside his window could no longer safely bear his weight. But the emergency rope ladder he kept in his closet was rated at 300 pounds. It had come with two big shiny metal hooks for the window ledge, but Jasper had noticed that, when painted the same color as the window frame, they became nearly undetectable from the ground, even with a strong flashlight. The tricky part was hiding the ropes and rungs, but Jasper had rigged a pulley and rope in the old tree. Once on the ground, he could draw it back up into the shadows. For nighttime excursions, it worked perfectly.
Jasper didn’t think his dad or Myrddin would be out this time of night, but he’d seen them watching Ebb’s house. He’d seen them keeping tabs on Lily. And in any mission of stealth, speed was everything.
The ride to Uncle Ebb’s house by bicycle was not long. And tonight, Jasper rode as hard as he dared. If the moonlight had been stronger, he would have ridden flat out the whole way. As it was, he had to rely on memory on more than one turn.
The most dangerous part was the final ascent onto the egg. Jasper had chosen an old deer path that led through the small wood ringing the gardens behind the mansion. Even though he knew it like the back of his hand, he stayed on his guard for whipping branches and fallen limbs.
Less than ten minutes after leaving his room, Jasper emerged from the tall pines bordering Ebb’s backyard. The garden was still and quiet. Fireflies, keeping to the shadows at the edge of the tree line, winked on and off. The paving stones that marked the various paths shone milky white. Jasper lifted his bike to his shoulder and silenced the ticking of his back wheel. Moving silently, he chose the path leading to the old barn that housed, among other things, a half-finished, full-sized Rinn electrimal.
As quietly as possible, he slid open the door and leaned his bike against an interior wall. Years ago, when doing some unauthorized investigating, Lily had discovered a spare key to the house hidden inside the Rinn’s mouth. Jasper had never understood why Ebb had done such a thing. Tay and Linnea locked neither their doors nor the doors to any of the outbuildings. Even the gate by the road had a smaller door with no lock. But after the events of the past few days, Jasper allowed that maybe his uncle had a good reason to lock things when he was away. After fumbling around in the Rinn’s mouth, Jasper fished out the key from under its tongue.
At the barn’s open doorway, standing in the deepest shadow, Jasper peered across the garden to the French doors. The smaller fountains feeding the big swimming pool trickled quietly. The night air smelled of boxwood and evergreens. In a few weeks, there would be the scent of roses, the only flowers Ebb allowed to grow in his garden.
Jasper would much rather have gone in through the front door, but Lily had told him about their father’s reprogramming Rinnjinn. Tay had never had cause to do anything like that before. For Jasper’s whole life, Rinnjinn had answered to his voice. As a child, he’d liked to imagine that Rinnjinn was somehow real, and that Jasper would always be allowed in (as long as he tripped the mechanism under the mat, and his voice was recognized by the microphone). But now Jasper was wondering if the cameras in Rinnjinn’s eyes might be reporting back to one of his dad’s computers. Or if they were being used as motion detectors, hooked up to some kind of alarm to alert Tay the minute Uncle Ebb came home or Lily or Jasper tried to enter.
Jasper stepped out of the barn and scanned the mansion’s widows. Not all the windows were dark, as he had expected they’d be. Odd. He tried to account for them. Could they be night lights? Was Finder on the prowl, finding parts Mr. Phixit needed for a project he was working on . . . electrimal maintenance?
Deep blue light streamed from the big French doors that marked the rear entrance to the great hall. Jasper gripped the key. It was fashioned to look like a swimming mermaid holding a spiny conch shell in her outstretched hands; the tail served as the handle, and each spine on the conch shell served as a bit, passing through the lock wards when inserted and turned. Would the key still work? If it did, it meant his father either didn’t know about the key or was certain Lily and Jasper didn’t know about it.
Jasper headed for the doors and flattened himself against the house wall. Creeping to the edge, he peered through the glass panes into the great hall. The coral reef walls were shimmering the deepest shade of blue. The Tesla generator was running!
Jasper placed his hand on the big brass knob, feeling for the keyhole, but in doing so, he felt the knob turn freely. The doors were unlocked!
Was Ebb finally home? Surely he would have come to their house, no matter what the time. And maybe he had, or maybe he was walking down the trail to their house right now. Or maybe he had just gotten home and was getting ready to go. Why else would the door be open? Who else would have a key?
Jasper took a better, longer look at the inside of the hall. The birdfish were present, but unoccupied, some with heads tucked beneath their stubby wings, some with their beaks resting on their breasts. That was a help.
Jasper took a deep breath, opened the door just wide enough to slip in, and ducked into the shadows.
Moving very quietly and keeping a sharp eye for any activity coming from the birdfish, he rounded the mermaid family at the foot of the stairs and ascended to the first landing. The hands on the grandfather clock spun wildly. Jasper stared at it as though for the first time. Ebb had always claimed it was broken, saying that someday he would get around to fixing it. He said it would be a big job, that he’d have to take it apart to remove the motion works and haul them up to Mr. Phixit’s work station.
But . . . the man moves trees weighing five to six tons for a living, thought Jasper.
He stood on his toes and pulled open the glass door covering the clock’s face. Inside the ring of large Roman numerals, just below the XII, were the words “Tempus Fugit,” neatly painted in a curved gold script. Just above the VI at the bottom, also in a curved script, appeared the words “Luna Divinatio.” Engraved across the surface of everything were stars, comets, moons, lines and spheres of astronomical measurements.
Above the ring of numbers was a slowly spinning moon dial displaying a wide expanse of bright stars. At the bottom were two more spinning dial plates, one in each corner. The one on the left showed a moon at its center. Jasper couldn’t remember ever having seen it move, but he felt certain that from time to time he had seen different moons depicted there. The one
on the right was more complex. Little moons the size of large marbles moved in and out of sight on wire armatures. Behind them, the inner workings of the clock turned and ticked—wheels overlapping gears overlapping pulsing coil springs.
And then Jasper noticed something he hadn’t before: an asterisk-shaped hole hidden in the curl of a nebula etched into the main dial plate. It looked like something a key—one of Uncle Ebb’s unorthodox ones—might fit into.
Jasper closed the glass door with a loud click. This wasn’t at all part of his mission and would have to wait for another day.
Turning on his heel, Jasper ascended to the second floor and headed down South Hall, retracing his way to the cloakroom. Even though the coral walls glowed a deep blue, Jasper pulled out his flashlight, shielding the beam with his fingers to let out only a thin stream of light. At the huge nine-sided window, he doused it, not turning it on again until he was safely past.
The shelves and heaps of clothes looked exactly as he remembered them. Jasper ran the thin beam across the trinkets on the shelves. There were cufflinks galore, tie clasps, narrow boxes, gloves, scarves, and rings—many rings. But Jasper was only interested in one of them. One with a simple moon-shaped face.
A wreath of feathered wings circled its rim. The detail on the face of the moon and the individual feathers was so fine he thought he’d need a magnifying glass to appreciate it all. But not tonight. He slipped the ring out of its case and into his pocket. Then, from the umbrella stand, Jasper pulled out the moon sword he’d seen the day Oscar first brought them here.
Jasper pocketed his flashlight and gave the sword a yank. The two moons on the hilt guards luminesced, and the runes on the blade glowed a pearly white. He hadn’t realized the significance of the sword at the time, but he sure understood now. Jasper tucked the short sword from the Tomb of the Fallen into the stand where the moon sword had been, carefully arranging the staffs and umbrellas so the exchange wouldn’t be noticeable to the casual eye.