by Tam Erskine
"If I could," Jack lowered his voice, worried that he'd offended Jonquil.
No one spoke.
Then, Clematis' voice whispered in his ear, "Can you truly imagine that? Imagine Jonquil brushing her hand over a wound and it vanishing as if it had never been."
He nodded, picturing Jonquil as clearly as if his eyes were open.
A wave of exhaustion rolled over him, making him glad he was still kneeling on the ground. Perhaps he'd feel better after eating.
He opened his eyes to find all three Ellyllon and Ivy staring at him as if he were the oddity among them, and he supposed in some way he was. Everything here was so different that his idea of a gift was probably altogether wrong.
Then, Jonquil alit on his arm. She rested her tiny hands on his bandage for a moment and then gently slid them around the outside of the wrapping. "There would not be a finer gift you could give me."
He blinked, dizzy again. He turned to Ivy. "Perhaps we could eat. I think I'm still out of sorts from everything."
Ivy nodded and helped him to his feet. "After that, we must talk." A curious look on her face, she added, "Please, try not to judge me too harshly."
As she led Jack back to the clearing where she'd left the food she'd gathered, Ivy didn't know whether to be angry with Clematis or not. She'd gone along with it, but it felt like trickery, felt wring to have Jack use his gift without meaning too. Of course, Jonquil's having the gift of healing would be a true blessing as they went on, but Jack was already exhausted.
Have we stolen her gift from him? What of his own needs?
Still and true, as she'd watched Jonquil's casual touch, Ivy was certain the Ellyll had healed Jack's arm.
"Here you are, Jack Merry." She gently helped Jack sit down on the close-cropped meadow grass. "Your first feast of faery fruits."
As he gazed at it, silent and still, Ivy feared it was less than impressive to him. There were slices of sweetroot, several whole green-birch fruit, a few winter plums, a variety of nuts, and even berries. "It was all I could find so quickly."
"No, it's great." He picked up a green-birch fruit. "I'm just not sure if I peel it or what . . ." "Just bite it." She lifted one and demonstrated.
Then, Daisy arrived, herding three scoopbacked tortoises forward, each with a crock of Drizzle Soup on its back. "Drink up. It's full of restorative plant juices."
Clematis and Jonquil exchanged a grimace.
Dutifully, Ivy lifted a crock and took a sip; it was as awful as always.
Jack lifted a hand, and she quickly put a slice of sweetroot in it. "Try this."
He ate it, and then reached out again.
"Here!" Clematis zipped up and plopped a berry in his mouth.
Covering her laugh with a cough, Ivy tried not to look at Daisy who was once again scowling.
After swallowing his berry, Jack said, "The soup smells good."
Then, to everyone's confusion he lifted the crock and drank the whole thing. “Delicious!”
Daisy preened. "Well, it's nice that someone here has sense."
After they finished their meal, even the Drizzle Soup, Ivy turned to Jack. "I need to show you something."
Before he could answer, the Ellyllon lifted up in a whir of color. Ivy looked away, as Clematis and Jonquil both paused to pat his face with their small hands.
"Go on, now." Daisy chased them away, muttering something as she went.
"In the realm, there is a legend of mortals who can tell tales so true that they become." Ivy pulled a sword out from under a length of dull cloth and placed it in the grass in front of Jack. "I suppose all creatures have legends, but this legend so frightened the Queen that she forbade mortals from entering her land. Most folk see no reason to take it seriously, thinking Mother's belief foolish." She glanced at him, dark eyes wide, and added, "But even the mad have moments of insight."
Jack looked at her, and all of townsfolk's murmured fears of faeries made sense: She has deceived him. He was violating the commands of the faery queen, and Ivy knew it, encouraged it even. “Strife” she'd said, but this was not simple strife. This was treason, and he was right in the thick of it.
Seeming oblivious to his upset, Ivy ran her finger over the face of the blade where delicate blossoms were etched into the metal. "The Queen alone has power to remake the world. Her visions, her images are reality here, but she's not well." Ivy's finger began to redden and bleed. Bright red drops fell onto the sword. She held it up. "Cold steel, it's awful."
"Where did the sword come from?" he asked, although he knew. In that terrible certainty before a fall, he knew.
"Once it was a vine, and you saw me braid it." She curled her hand around the hilt. "Then it was a staff, for my gift will not fashion that which would carry dark intent. The Queen's will hath made it so."
With her free hand, Ivy gripped his hand and pulled it to rest on the hilt of the sword. "But your gift does not have such limits. You can change the world, Jack Merry. You can make things as they ought to be." She stared at him, and in a voice so soft it sounded like a prayer, she added, "You can heal the Queen."
"Are the Twitches injured?" Thinking about the brown stuff he'd scrubbed off his arms, Jack yanked his hand away from her. For a moment, he thought he was going to be sick. His stomach squirmed. His heart thudded. He whispered, "They are, aren't they? Why? Why would you do this?"
He got to his feet, staring at Ivy. "What happened to being truthful?"
"I vowed to do my best by you, to give you full truth by the third day. I've done that and more. If you knew what I risked for you, for this." She gestured around her, and her eyes darkened. "I'm not a vow-breaker, Jack Merry."
Jack had never been quite as furious in his life. Here he was, thinking he finally found a place where he'd be accepted, and everything was a lie. He wasn't even welcome here. Mortals were forbidden, and despite rumors and whispers, Jack Merry was completely mortal.
"This whole thing has been what? A bid for the throne? You're the youngest so you don't have any other way to get to be Queen? Is that it?"
"Haven't you been listening? My mother is ill." Ivy didn't stand. She looked up at him, her face suddenly looking far older than she seemed. "She has no control over her visions, and my sister encourages her delusions. I didn't know what else to do."
He felt himself shaking, and wasn't sure if he was more angry or hurt. "So, you tricked me? That was your plan? Trick me and get a steel sword?"
Ivy looked away, seeming to watch something beyond him. "I hoped she'd get well, but she hasn't. She grows worse. The folk meet and plot against her . . ." She caught his hand in hers, holding it with a strength far greater than seemed possible with those thin fingers. "I've watched you for many mortal years, Jack Merry. You've a good heart, and when I heard you tell your stories to the mortals there, I knew. I knew you were the sort of mortal that could change things."
Jack yanked his hand from her grip and walked away. He wasn't sure where he was going, but being with Ivy suddenly felt like the last place he wanted to be.
Chapter 7: In which questions must be answered
Daisy watched Jack go. He was right, she supposed, to think Ivy'd tricked him. She had brought him under the earth without much warning. Mortals seldom took well to that.
"Are you going to follow him?" Daisy dropped down to peer at the sword, careful not to touch it.
"And say what?" Ivy closed her eyes, tilting her head down so her hair fell over her face like a veil. "Shall I say I'll take him above-ground? Tell him it's altogether fine if the realm falls deeper into madness?"
"Perhaps." Daisy watched her, the girl she'd tended since she was a toddling babe. She'd had far too much burden put on her so young. "It's not fine, dear, but it's not his battle."
"Mother's not going to get well without help. If we take Jack there, maybe we can talk, and even if not, maybe he can talk--tell a tale about her being well--and then she'd be well." Ivy's voice rose, anger or panic creeping in again. "It's wors
e this season, worse every season."
"It is." Daisy busied herself gathering up the few pieces of food not eaten and wrapping them in leaves. "But how would Jack Merry know such a thing?"
"He thinks I was untrue."
"And were you, by mortal standards?" Daisy had almost finished wrapping the food and was beginning to drag it over to Ivy's satchel. Someone had to look after the lot of them, else they'd be half-starved before they even got to see the Queen. "Truth here isn't quite the same as truth above-ground."
"I told no untruths," Ivy started in a petulant tone. "I just--"
Daisy put her hands on her hips, and Ivy stopped mid-statement.
Daisy said gently, "You've withheld the full of it."
"I hoped once he saw the realm, once he knew her, he'd understand." Ivy clenched her hands together.
But Daisy shook her head. She flew up to Ivy's shoulder and tugged a handful of hair. Smiling to soften the blow, she said, "You put off telling him, and in his world that, too, is a kind of lie. Once it was also thus in the realm."
At first, Ivy said nothing, just stared as if she were a lost child. Finally, she ducked her head. "I should talk to him."
Daisy nodded. "It would be the right thing to do."
After Ivy walked away, Daisy sat down and pulled her knees to her chest. It would be a glorious thing if they were to get through the troubles unharmed, simply walk up to the mad queen and fix things, but she doubted any of them truly understood the feat they'd undertaken.
She lowered her head, resting it on her knee. As tears slid down her cheeks and dripped onto her lap, she whispered a plea that the others wouldn't realize how little chance they had of success, that foolish belief was one of the few things they had on their side. Three Ellyllon, a mortal, and a faery . . . their odds weren't good at all.
Not far away, Jack walked aimlessly--utterly lost but thinking he'd find the mouth of the tunnel any moment. If the Twitches are injured or gone, why not simply walk back that way? Of course, he wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to go, but he was certain that he couldn't just sit around waiting for Ivy to decide for him.
He nodded to himself.
Yes, indeed, this being passive is just not doing it.
He thought about the questions he might have asked, had he been a little less angry. Then he thought of the utter mess she'd pulled him into. He hadn't done much deciding at all so far, just following along without any questions. That needed to stop. There was no reason to stay here while he sorted it out. Why, now that he knew the way, he could come back--if he chose to, that is.
"Fancy that, a mortal that's not above-ground." A massive black dog with eyes as red as holly berries stood in front of him, blocking the way by its sheer size.
Jack tried for a friendly voice. "Would you know which way to turn if I wanted to go above-ground?"
The dog laughed; at least Jack thought it was a laugh, though it sounded deep enough that it might have been a growl. "Knowing and saying's not quite the same, is it?"
Jack sighed, entirely too tired of word games to try to reason with a dog. Reason with a dog? He shook his head and tried to step around the beast.
It made another sound, and this time Jack was certain it was, in fact, a growl.
Bits of spittle sprayed from its jaws. "Do you want to run?"
"Walking's fine." Jack backed away, not sure what else to do. He thought about what Ivy'd just said about his being able to speak things into being. Right now, that sounded like a good skill to have.
"Run." It growled. "I could chase. Like a hare . . . I'll even give you a few moments to get a good lead."
Slaver from the hound's mouth hit the dirt path, hissing like some strange poison.
There was no way he'd be able to outrun it. He looked around: nowhere to hide, no branches low enough to scramble into a tree. Swallowing hard, he tried it. "And then I had a sword."
Jack glanced around him: there were no weapons of any kind on the bristling grass. It hadn't worked.
The hound opened its blue-black lips, baying. If they were above-ground, Jack would expect that sound to summon some hunter to finish off a treed animal.
His heart raced as he thought about what he'd done when it worked. Eyes. I closed my eyes.
As it advanced, the beast seemed even more menacing. Its teeth weren't like regular dog's teeth--each tooth was jagged with tiny serrations.
Jack closed his eyes. Even if it doesn't work, at least I won't see it as it eats me. In his imagination, he pictured a sword, the one he'd seen most recently, Ivy's. "Then as the beast looked at the boy, it saw that he had a sword, a beautiful sword which could be wielded to stop the hound."
He flexed his empty hand. He opened his eyes, hoping the sword was at his feet. It didn't.
"So, Jack Merry, you've saved me the work of finding you." Ivy stepped in front of him, between him and the beast. "What're doing with one of the Huntsmen's hounds?"
The hound in question hadn't moved.
"Ivy!" He might still be angry and hurt, but he didn't mean to summon Ivy into danger. She didn't need to get injured by the beast. But then again, if her life were tied to his, his being eaten by the beast would be pretty dangerous to her anyhow. "I'm sorry. I just meant to make a sword . . . Just give it here. You don't need it . . ."
"Can you fight, Jack?" Her voice sounded like she was but a moment from laughter. "Do you know swordplay, then?"
Growling, like the rumble of an earth tremor, sounded in the beast's throat.
Jack stepped backwards, trying to tug Ivy with him. "No, but . . ."
"Shall I dispatch the hound then?" She didn't look at him while she spoke, her gaze fixed on the beast. "This mortal is with me; he wears my mark."
"He'll run just the same." Its tongue licked its muzzle. "I've not caught a mortal in . . . oh, a fortnight, I believe it's been."
"Jack Merry?"
"Yes."
"Tell the hound why you wandered into his path without me."
Jack glanced past Ivy to the hound. "She didn't tell me that my telling her a story made the sword in her hand, and she could have. She lied."
"By mortal standards . . . not by the rules of the realm." She sighed. "Tell him about before that, what happened to the Twitches."
"In the tunnel, I told her a story about a princess with a sword who had the strength of a score of Red-Caps. I guess, she . . ."
"Slew them, Jack. I stopped or slew them so they didn't rend us limb from limb."
Jack had to fight the nausea that threatened. "Right . . . She 'slew' them, and umm, here we are, but I got angry and . . ."
"The strength of a score of Red-Caps?" It interrupted, tilting its head and peering at Jack. Its red eyes flashed darker. "Imagine that."
Ivy lowered her sword, pointing the tip to the ground, but still holding tight to the hilt. "Yes, imagine."
The hound settled back on its haunches. "Did you think it wise to let him wander off?"
The beast went from threatening to chastising Ivy for "letting" him walk away. Jack was growing less afraid by the moment and simultaneously angrier again. "If she'd have been truthful--like she promised . . ."
"By the rules of the realm, I've broken no vow," she murmured, still not looking away from the beast.
Jack could swear the hound grinned at them.
"Suppose you'll not let me chase him, Princess?"
Ivy shook her head.
"I've already summoned the Huntsmen. If you don't behead me, you know I'm bound to tell of this," it said, sounding surprisingly calm despite the import of its words. "I don't fancy being beheaded."
"I know."
Open-mouthed, Jack looked from Ivy to the beast. Absolutely inane, that's what this world was! "So, you're going to kill him?"
"Perhaps, Jack, unless there's a better way you can offer. The hounds are all quite mad--Mother's gift to them, you know. He would likely have mauled you terrible bad once he caught you. Lest the Hunt reached you first, they'd ha
ve ridden over you, sliced your mortal to skin to shreds with their steed's hooves." Ivy glanced at him, half-smiling. "Have you a solution?"
Mauled him, severed a limb, trampled by some strange horses--yes, Jack suspected that had he not been able to summon Ivy it would've been quite awful. Still, killing the creature as they stood talking seemed pretty awful too. "I do."
Ivy had resuming watching the beast.
Jack leaned in and whispered, "Are there limits to this little skill of mine?"
"I've not a clue, Jack Merry." She lifted the sword as the beast--for no discernable reason--stood. "It was but a legend. I've watched you these past seasons, but I'd not known if the legends were truth. Until you gave me the skills to vanquish the Twitches . . ."
The dog's slaver was falling, hissing, onto the ground again. It looked vicious, but in its eyes Jack thought--believed--he saw hope for an answer.
He closed his eyes. "The princess and her friend came upon a beast, but the beast didn't truly mean them harm."
"Hound, Jack, he's one of the Huntsmen's hounds. Mother finds them more . . . useful if they're prone to fits of madness. Says it keeps the folk wary, obedient."
"Well, although the hound had been plagued by a madness that made him vicious, as the princess looked at the hound," he paused, adding in an undertone, "Look at the hound, Ivy."
"I am."
"As she looked at the hound, she saw the cause of his madness and his wrath. It was a . . . a parasite, sitting ever so still on the hound's head." Jack pictured it, a big green insect, bloated like a tick. It stared at them, unable to hide itself. "The hound stayed quite still as the princess gently dislodged the parasite."
"I have, Jack."
"Once it was gone . . . is it gone?" He heard the sound of her sword slicing the air, a crunching sound, and then silence. "Then, the hound had no desire to wound the princess or any she cared about. It knew that they meant it no harm."
At first it was silent, but then the hound spoke. "So, the legends were true."
"Open your eyes, Jack Merry."