by Tam Erskine
Yes. Say yes.
Accepting the Queen's growing madness was folly. Suppose she willed them out of immortality? Suppose she willed them out of their very existence?
Yes, Jack Merry. Say it.
He opened his mouth.
But Ivy slapped her hand over his lips and said, "Do not answer! You don't understand!"
Jack Merry paused, his gaze trailing over the curious assemblage. Tiny faces, strange and lovely, peeked out from the foliage, from hollows in fallen trees, from every shadowed spot. Others stepped into the clearing, brazen as if they were forces to be reckoned with.
And maybe they were.
Jack pulled Ivy’s hand away and asked, "Did you mean it when you told me you'd be truthful with me?"
Ivy nodded.
"So, do you mean me any harm?" Jack waited, all too aware of their growing audience.
To his side was a spider of almost human proportions. It smiled. At least he hoped it was a smile that made those glittering fangs peek from her furred face.
"Will you force me to do anything?" he asked.
"No." Ivy's voice was a whisper, like a soft breeze over sheaves of wheat. She looked directly into his eyes and added, "I'll not force you to do anything."
With his new sight, Jack stared at her, seeing her features clearly now that they were face-to-face instead of astride the horse. Where the light touched her hair, the strands shimmered--like sunlight reflecting flowers on water. Her hands, clenched tightly, were thin and her fingers longer than a human's would be.
She didn't flinch as he stared at her.
And he couldn't look away, ridiculously afraid that if he did, she'd dart into the wood as quickly as a frightened deer, leaving him with only a dream of this strange world. "I mean to stay for my three days,” he said. “So tell me: what will it mean if I vow?"
She didn't move or answer.
Kayt nudged her. "Tell the mortal what he's promised, so he can answer to it."
"You haven't put a time limit on your word, Jack." Ivy paced over to a raised stone chair that Jack hadn't noticed before. Her motions were jarring, out of synch with the calmness of her voice, like she was forcing her feet to move slowly. "Supposing it were years from now, and you were an old man in your house above-ground. I could still summon you to me. You must choose the perfect words in vows." She raised her voice and added, "I'll not accept a vow unawares."
She caught his gaze and added in a low voice, "But others would, Jack. Some that should have honour here don't. Be careful of your words. Words are powerful here, and vows are laws."
Ignoring the watching crowd, Jack plopped down in front of him.
To run she'd need to kick him first, and he hoped she wouldn't do that. He glanced behind him. The Ellyllon had flown over to perch on Cerridan's branch-arms, kicking their feet and occasionally flipping backwards like the acrobats that had come through town a few seasons past. They might look relaxed, but they too watched.
Jack looked back at Ivy, speaking softly. "But I said there's nothing you could ask me to do that I wouldn't at least consider. I didn't say I'd dance to your every whim."
"Indeed, Jack Merry, you did add that!" Ivy gripped his shoulders in an almost-embrace. "Here I am worried after the folly of your not understanding the meaning, and you are instructing me." She stood up, still smiling, and asked, "And do you wish to make that vow still?"
And stay among them? Yes.
Jack was certain of his vow. The tiny Ellyllon, the curious cat-creature, the almost hidden creatures all waited on him to say the words, and he did. "I do."
A group of tiny hedgehog-creatures surged forward. "A blood vow, it should be a blood vow."
Ivy nodded and held out her hand, palm up.
One Hedge-Child stepped forward and bowed rather regally. Another plucked a quill from the smaller one's back and in a blur slashed open Ivy's palm. Her face was impassive as she watched bright drops of blood pool in her hand.
"Now yours, Jackie Mortal," came Cerridan's deep voice.
Jack held out his hand, wincing as the Hedge-Child drew his blood. Unlike Ivy, his face was far from impassive. Though shallow, the cut stung.
"Say it," urged Kayt, swatting Jack on the arm lightly with his tail. "Repeat the words."
Dutifully, Jack repeated, "For the three days I'm here, there's nothing you could ask me to do that I wouldn't at least consider.”
Ivy was making a pinched face like she would speak but couldn’t. She waved her hand is a “more” gesture.
So, Jack hastily added, “but consider is nor the same as do."
She let out a big gulp of air, clasped his hand in hers, and said, "Accepted!" Ivy smiled
"Heard and witnessed," answered the three Ellyllon sisters with mixed expressions on their small brows.
"Heard and witnessed," repeated Kayt, Cerridan, and many of the nameless creatures peering from around trees and shrubs.
For a moment, Jack stayed on the ground listening to the chiming of bells.
He hadn't heard them while they rode, but it occurred to him that they were connected to her somehow. Looking up at Ivy, who was still holding his hand, he asked, "Do the bells ring different ways because of how you feel? Or is it something else? Moving a certain way?"
Ivy froze, still holding his hand. "Bells?"
"I heard them earlier when I first met you, and when I agreed to stay for the three days, but I didn't hear them when we were on the horse. They're yours, aren't they?" Jack looked at her silver tunic; there were no bells to be seen. None hid in her hair that he could see.
"You hear bells?" Ivy let go of him. Her dark eyes widened. Her hands shook. He had seen that look on the faces of the townsfolk often enough in his life.
Fear.
He didn't want to see it on Ivy's face.
"Daisy!" she called out, looking around frantically.
Like a rainbow in motion, all three Ellyllon darted over.
"What's wrong?" Daisy's tiny feet touched down on Ivy's leg.
"He can hear bells," Ivy whispered, several tears slid down her cheeks. They hardened, clinking like ice as they hit the stone chair. "I wasn't sure it was even true, but he can hear the bells."
Ivy brushed away her tears with a series of clattering sounds as the last of them hit the stone in a group. "I've broken a geas bringing you here. If you can hear them, my lifespark is tied to your mortal span now, blown out when you pass."
"I thought faeries were immortal . . . you're going to die because of me?" Jack asked in horror. This wasn't what he thought he was joining on for when he took her hand at the lake. It had simply seemed like a strange adventure, too odd to turn down. He wasn't looking to get involved in something that'd cause anyone harm.
He turned to the Ellyllon. "She doesn't mean that, right?
The Ellyllon dropped their heads, not looking at him, not answering.
“Take me back,” he insisted, voice lifting. “I don’t want that.”
"'Fey blood will be tainted by mortal ties’ was the warning." Ivy took his hand in hers again. "Mother announced it. She thought it would be reason enough to stop the folk from getting involved with mortals. You’re hearing my lifespark, Jack Merry. The chiming is my lifespark."
Jack let her draw him to his feet, wondering if he should let go of her hand and run. Would she follow if I did? And what did she mean 'binding'?
Studying her face for any sign of jest, he asked, "Why would you bring me here then? And why would your mother not want mortals around?"
Ivy shook her head. "You'll understand before our journey's done. " Then, her voice dropped to a whisper. "For now, know this: you are either a blessing among us or bringer of my curse. I've watched you long enough that I believe you'll not be my curse."
Chapter 3: In which Ivy's worries are answered
After they left the heart of the forest, Ivy stayed silent as they resumed their ride toward the hill. Soon they would approach the mouth of a tunnel that led to the faery realm
. There was no turning back after that.
But the closer they came to the gate, the more Ivy felt her heart speeding.
Is this the mortal taint? the feeling of terror, of urgency?
She wondered if Jack's life would be long, for if her fate were truly tied to hers, she would share that lifetime, expiring when he did. Would the curse be undone? Even if she succeeded, her mother's will was still that which made the realm.
Could he change that?
Could he do it in time?
Lost in her thoughts she ignored Jack for some time, but he didn't seem to mind. He sat lightly behind her, listening instead to the Ellyllon's wild tales.
As they approached the gate, Clematis pointed out the Red-Caps on Sentry Duty, the Queen's first line of defense. Towering over most folk, they guarded their post as much by implied menace as by actual force. Thick jowled and heavily armed, they were an imposing sight.
Behind them was a dark hollow in the earth, invisible to mortals without the Sight. The air there was still, as silent as Ivy imagined a grave might be, and foreboding to even those few creatures of the wood that didn't See.
Home or not, Ivy's skin still tingled uncomfortably. No one crossed into that shadowed realm without the Red-Caps' leave.
Clematis whispered to Jack, "And do you know what makes their caps so red, Jack Merry?" She paused, and then, in a gleeful voice, exclaimed, "Battles! . . . a great many battles protecting us from invaders. They dip their caps in the blood of the invaders. The deeper the red, the fiercer the warrior!"
The Red-Caps, with their acute hearing, grinned. In some strange twist of reality, Clematis had become like a favorite daughter to the Red-Caps. Even the oppressive feeling at the gate didn't deter Clematis from visiting them regularly; she'd happily spend days alongside the Red-Caps, listening to their gruesome tales of battles.
Clematis darted forward--her feet brushing Ivy's wrist--and waved cheerily, and then just as suddenly went back and nudged Jack. "Be friendly."
Jack nodded, but said nothing.
Ivy sat straighter, hoping that Arth and the others were willing to let her cross. If they stopped her, she didn't know that Jack was ready to answer anything.
Would his answers satisfy them? Maybe if she stopped here, she could explain . . . explain what, though? That there was a revolution at hand? That he was her secret weapon?
"Ivy?" Jack leaned closer and murmured in her ear. "They're watching us."
"They're on duty, Jack." Ivy sighed: she should've taken time for stopping and talking. "They watch everything that passes here. Mortals come and go under their watch, and no one the wiser, but you see them, Jack. You are aware, and that changes everything."
One Red-Cap stepped forward. "Why should we let you pass?"
Ivy tugged gently on the reins; the horse stilled, as watchful as the Red-Caps. "I've been above-ground, but I'm for home now. My companions come with me."
"With a mortal?" asked one of the fiercest of the guards.
A few guards glanced over at them, but they stayed as silent as if they hadn't heard the exchange. It took a lot to distract a Red-Cap.
Ivy swallowed hard, fighting the fear that threatened to rise up. "I say he is welcome among us." She met the senior Red-Caps' gaze, and then the other strongest fighters, each in turn. "He wears my mark. He crosses with me."
"Send him forward then, Princess. Let us speak with your mortal." Arth's somber tone betrayed his worry. For all his scars and battles, he'd always been tender to her.
Ivy looked over her shoulder to face Jack. "Go on now."
He lifted one eyebrow. "Princess? I'm traveling with a faery princess?"
"I'm not the eldest daughter, Jack. It hardly signifies." Ivy couldn't tell him how little regard her mother had for her, to speak thus would be treason, regardless of the truth of it.
So, she squeezed his arm. "Go on now . . . the Red-Caps have called you. I cannot offer you any aid here. Just remember, be generous and speak only the truth. Always speak` truth, Jack."
Jack looked at the Red-Caps. One had a scar that ran the length of his cheek, disappearing under a bright red stain where his eye should be. He grinned, wrinkling that red patch of skin.
Another curled her lip in what looked like a snarl, but might have been a smile. It was hard to tell. Then that Red-Cap moved away, switching her post with another equally scarred guard.
Watching them, Jack realized that they all moved about in a complex rotation, enabling new eyes to gaze in different directions every few moments. And as they walked--despite the wicked daggers and one particularly vicious looking scythe they carried--they were almost silent.
Gripping his sack, he slid to the ground and walked towards the Red-Caps, measuring his steps to the rhythm of his pounding heartbeat. The closer he got, the larger the strange creatures seemed.
One spread his feet in a stance better suited to wielding weapons than to making idle conversation. Another rested a hand on the hilt of a black dagger.
'Be friendly; be generous,' they said. I can do that.
"It's hot out here." Jack forced himself to hold his voice even, telling himself they were no different from the townsfolk. Maybe they were a bit scarred, but they were people just the same.
How do I greet a tired farmer? Try that.
"Can I offer you a share of my water while we talk?"
"Poisoned, is it?" one growled, giving a flash of her jagged teeth. "No mortal poison for us."
"No." Jack moved closer still. He could do this, talk to them, just like when he shared a cup of warm cider with the townsfolk. A bit of refreshment, some talk--it'd be fine. He rummaged around in his sack until he found the flask. "It's just water I had in my pack."
One of the Red-Caps stared at him.
He held it up, shaking it so it sloshed against the sides. "It's fresh, drawn from the spring this morn."
Another snorted, "You think to poison us to get by? No."
The others made agreeing noises, shuffling around, looking not at him but out through the trees even as they spoke. "Skewer him, that'd be the way."
"Peel him, I say."
Jack glanced back at Ivy. She sat astride her horse, face unreadable; the little Ellyllon hovered near her shoulder, carefully avoiding becoming entangled in Ivy's hair.
Jack turned back to the Red-Caps. Their doubts made him all the more determined to get them to share a drink with him. "If it were poison, would it make me ill?"
They conferred.
One Red-Cap From stepped from behind the others. He slid his hand over his chin; then, he grinned. "Mortals 're same as us. Poison me; poison you."
Another Red-Cap stepped around behind Jack, standing between him and Ivy. He scratched his scalp, shifting his dark red toboggan-cap in the process. His hand came away wet and red. "We could string him up for the Twitches. They like tender meats. They'd owe us."
Jack tried not to stare at the dark red fluid on the Red-Cap's fingernails: he knew what it was and wondered how recent the Red-Cap's fight had been that his cap was still wet.
Taking a deep breath, Jack returned to the question. "So, if it's safe for me, it's safe for you?"
The Red-Caps finally allowed that if Jack could drink the water it was, in fact, safe.
So, he uncorked the flask and tilted it to his mouth. He took a long swallow, careful not to waste any.
Several of the Red-Caps watched Jack while others continued their shifting and scanning the surrounding wood.
"No poison," said Jack, holding it out. "Have some, and then we can talk about what you wanted to know. I could spin a tale for you if you'd like. First, a drink between friends . . ."
"Friends, is it, now?" The Red-Cap with the stained fingernails took the water. "You offer us a vow of friendship?"
"Sure. Friends." Jack stepped back and looked up at the towering guards. Several of them were now watching him openly. Others grinned at him. "If you don't want me to tell a tale, I'd love to hear your stories, list
en to what you can tell me. I collect stories too."
With a surprisingly deep chuckle, the Red-Cap held out the flask. "Indeed?"
"I could sketch some too, not like the artists that I'm sure live here somewhere, but I'd try my best to do right by you. I'd write them down." Jack was growing excited by the idea.
Yes, I'll make a book of it, with one of those soft leather covers like the schoolmaster's fine books.
"A mortal tale-teller with the princess . . ." The Red-Cap clamped a heavy hand on Jack's shoulder. "And offering friendship to a Red-Cap?" He chuckled, shaking his head just fast enough that a few bright red drops flew from it. "Who ever heard of such a thing?"
"Well, Ivy and Clematis seemed to think you were nice . . ."
"Stop back by after your visit, if you're able, Friend. We'll trade tales with you. Go on now." He gestured for Jack to go back to the horse and bowed his head to Ivy. "He hasn't a clue, has he?"
"He knows enough for now, Arth," Ivy murmured. She held out her hand to Jack. "Come, Jack. You've done what needed doing here."
Jack looked from the Red-Cap Arth to Ivy, sure he was missing something. "I thought they needed to talk to me about something."
The Red-Caps chuckled, shaking their heads and exchanging looks.
"They did, Jack. They needed to know your intent, to test you. You've invoked a plea of friendship, meant true. They'd 've known if you'd meant it as a ploy, Jack Merry, and we'd have gone no further. But laws are what they are. You offered true friendship and bear no threat to the realm." She held out her hand. "Come now, Jack. We've a ways to travel still."
"Matty!" Arth motioned Clematis closer, darting his eyes to the side, signaling her to lead them to privacy.
She grinned and snatched his crimson cap from his head. She flew just beyond his reach, clutching his cap. "Aah, it must be horrid to be so big and ungainly."