“You have come a great distance to speak with us on behalf of your people, or so you said,” spoke up the first of the Elders, a woman with chestnut skin and a penetrating gaze. “Tell us, what kind of help do you seek?”
Linden took a deep breath and put her hands behind her back, so that the Elders would not see them tremble. Then she spoke up in her clearest voice:
“We need magic, if you are able to give it. Because my people have lost theirs, and now a powerful Empress wants to conquer us, and unless you help us, we will surely die.”
Linden did a good job of telling their story, Timothy had to admit—but then, she’d had plenty of practice. She told the Children of Rhys all about the Oakenfolk, and how Jasmine had used up all their magic on her mad scheme to “free” them from humans. Then she went on to relate all that had happened when she and Timothy went to London in search of more faeries, and what they had learned from Veronica and Rob about the Empress. Finally, she explained about the Blackwings coming after them, and how she and Timothy had been forced to flee the Oakenwyld and stake all their hopes on finding the Children of Rhys. But to Timothy’s surprise, there was one crucial thing Linden didn’t mention: the Stone of Naming, and the bargain she had made with Rob to find it and bring it back.
“This Empress,” said a broad-chested Elder with reddish hair and beard, “who is she, and whence has she come? This is the first we have heard of her.”
“I don’t know,” Linden told him. “I just know that she’s powerful and cruel, and that all the other faeries are afraid to do anything against her, because she knows their true names. So they have to obey her, whether they want to or not.”
It was then that Timothy realized what Linden was trying to do: She hoped the Elders would see the obvious parallel to their own history, and offer to give her the Stone of Naming without making her ask for it. But though the Elders all looked grave, none took the bait.
“And this Empress refuses to let her subjects associate with humans?” said the dark-haired woman who had addressed them before. “How does she expect the faeries under her rule to thrive? Where do they obtain their meat and milk and grain, their cloth and pottery, their books and musical instruments? Without human trade we would have none of these things, nor the skills to make use of them, and our realm would be impoverished.”
Silence. Timothy glanced at Linden, but she still looked crestfallen at how the Elders had ignored the obvious oppor-tunity to tell her about the Stone. Well, just because she hadn’t succeeded didn’t mean he couldn’t have a try himself.
“They steal them from us,” he spoke up, and was rewarded with shocked murmurs from every side of the room. “They pretend to be human, and lure us into trusting them, and then they take our creativity by force. But how are they supposed to know any better? Their Empress is the worst deceiver of all—she tricked all of the faeries into giving her their blood, and then she used that blood to find out their true names.”
The whispers turned into gasps, and many of the faeries sat up in their seats, looking appalled. “This is evil news indeed,” said a lean, blond Elder who bore a strong resemblance to Garan. “To hear that our fellow faeries have been enslaved against their will cannot help but grieve us all.” He turned his gaze on Linden. “Yet if this Empress is so powerful and ruthless, what makes you think you can resist her? Her servants are many, and you Oakenfolk are few. It would be ill done if we restored your people’s magic only to have the Empress conquer and enslave them, and turn those powers to evil in her service.”
“But the Oakenfolk aren’t alone,” Timothy said quickly. “They have allies—humans like myself, and my cousin and his wife. Not to mention a lot of faeries in the Empress’s service who would be glad to fight back against her if they could.”
“Yes, and some of those faeries have already helped us,” agreed Linden. “Even risking their lives to warn us about the Empress’s plans, and see us safely on our way. Which is why there’s one more thing I have to ask of you.” She clasped her hands imploringly. “Please—may we borrow the Stone of Naming, so that we can set them free?”
The hall went utterly silent. No one moved or spoke, but Timothy could feel the weight of hundreds of eyes upon them. The Elders exchanged looks. Finally one of them said, “You have given us much to consider, and we will do so—but in private. We will return when we have reached a verdict.”
Then they all rose and walked out, and the doors swung shut behind them.
As the murmurs from the audience swelled to a clamor, Garan hurried out onto the floor and drew Linden and Timothy aside. “You spoke well,” he said. “My father, Gwylan, is one of the Elders, and though he questioned you closely, I could see that he sympathized with your cause.” His cheeks were flushed and his eyes bright as he spoke. “Perhaps it is time for our people, too, to take a stand.”
“What do you mean by that?” demanded a thin-faced faery with a cap of unruly dark hair. He jumped out of his seat and stalked down the steps to join them. “The Children of Rhys have stood for peace and justice ever since our forefathers first settled these islands. If the other faeries needed guidance, they had only to look to us, but they chose to go their own ways instead. If they have fallen under the spell of this Empress, surely they have only themselves to blame.”
“Look to us, Broch?” said Garan incredulously. “How can they? We leave these islands only to buy our goods and learn whatever crafts may please us, and even then we disguise ourselves and never speak. The humans know us to be generous, but that is all—and what can our fellow faeries learn from the Children of Rhys, when they have not seen or heard from us in centuries?”
“But we cannot leave the Gwerdonnau Llion,” protested a girl faery with dusky skin and wiry black hair who looked no older than Linden. “Not without becoming entangled in the very evils from which Rhys and our forefathers sought to deliver us. Surely you cannot desire that?”
“No, Rhosmari, I do not desire evil,” Garan replied with a hint of impatience. “But it seems to me that to stand idle while evil is being done is no virtue, either. If it is in our power to help Linden and her people—”
“Of course we will help them,” cut in Broch. “That much is plain. But what form that help will take is for the Elders to decide.”
“Is it plain, then?” said another male. “I am not so certain. What do we know of these Oakenfolk? Because one of their number has proven herself honorable, does it follow that all of them are so worthy?”
The discussion became animated as more of the Children of Rhys gathered around, new voices chiming in from every side. But they ignored Linden completely; even Garan was too busy defending himself now to pay any heed to her. All she could do was stand there on the outskirts of the noisy crowd, bewildered and a little hurt.
“Come on,” said Timothy at last, tugging at her arm. “If they’re just going to argue, we might as well go have something to eat.”
They found a quiet corner on the room’s far side, and Timothy handed out the lunches Mrs. Jenkins had made for them. A pang went through Linden as she opened her bag and found a jam sandwich, a rosy apple, and a bar of chocolate—tokens of a simple kindness that she now dearly missed. For all their courteous talk, the Children of Rhys had never asked if she and Timothy were hungry, or offered them anything to drink. And for all the sunlit beauty of the white chamber around them, the place was uncomfortable and even a little cold. She thought of the Oak, so humble by contrast, and felt homesick.
She had finished one half of the sandwich and started on the other when the chamber went abruptly quiet, and she looked up to see that all the Children of Rhys—the Elders included—had returned to their seats. Hurriedly she brushed the crumbs from her lap and walked back onto the floor with Timothy.
“We have made our decision,” said Garan’s father, and Linden felt a stir of hope. Surely it was a good sign, if the Elders had appointed him to speak? But then she saw how grave he looked, and her confidence faltered as he w
ent on:
“Though it pains us to deny you, we cannot give what you ask. The curse that robbed you and your fellow Oakenfolk of magic has also left you too few in number to resist the Empress, even if your powers were restored. And though you claim to have allies, their loyalty is unproven, and the Stone of Naming is too precious to fall into enemy hands.”
Tears swam into Linden’s eyes, and she put her hands over her mouth. She and Timothy had come so far, endured so much…. Had it truly all been for nothing?
“And yet,” Gwylan continued, “we are not without pity. It is the will of the Elders that any of your people who choose may come and join us here in the Gwerdonnau Llion, where their magic will be restored and they may live out the rest of their lives with us in peace and safety…provided, that is, they pass the test.”
Approving murmurs rose from the audience: Nearly all the Children of Rhys seemed to agree that the judgment was fair. But Linden closed her eyes, despairing. What use was an invitation that none of her people could possibly accept? There was no way that a group of small faeries with no magic to protect themselves could undertake such a long journey—and even if by some miracle they did make it this far, how many of them would be deemed worthy to join the Children of Rhys? Much as she disliked Mallow’s bossiness and blustering, much as she resented Bluebell trying to set herself up as Queen in Valerian’s place, Linden could not bear the thought that any of the Oakenfolk might fail the test, and be left behind.
Timothy’s arm came around her shoulders, a wordless gesture of sympathy, and Linden turned to him and buried her face against his chest, a little sob heaving out of her. The chamber grew quiet, the Elders awaiting her reply—but she couldn’t bear to look at them, didn’t know what to say.
“So that’s what you call pity?” demanded Timothy over the top of her head, and she pulled back, startled, as he continued in the same fierce tone: “I call it cowardice. Linden’s told you what’s happening out there—nearly all your fellow faeries are slaves of the Empress, and they’re treating my people like cattle. The Oakenfolk are the only ones left who know how to live freely and in peace with humans—and instead of helping them make a difference in the world, you want to make them just as useless and self-righteous as you are?”
“Boy,” began one of the Elders warningly, but Timothy kept talking right over him:
“Why should the Oakenfolk come and live with people who’ve been so busy congratulating themselves on their own goodness and generosity, they haven’t even noticed that the rest of the world is suffering? You keep yourself hidden away on these islands because you’re afraid of being corrupted. But what good are your laws if they only help people who are perfect already? What use are your beliefs if they can’t stand up to the real world?”
He spoke with passion, gray-green eyes blazing, and Linden gazed up at him in awe. When he had finished, the silence in the chamber was electric, and it was several heartbeats before the dark-haired Lady Elder spoke:
“Return to us the magical herbs you carry. You have scorned our sacred traditions and despised our charity, and you are no longer welcome here.”
And with that, she stood up and deliberately turned her back on them. Several other Elders did likewise, and then, after a helpless pause, the rest. Gwylan was last to turn, his face grim and his hands clenched at his sides. Then, in a flash of cold light, all twelve of them disappeared.
Sixteen
In the dreadful stillness that followed the Elders’ verdict, four faeries carrying spears and wearing leather breastplates marched out onto the floor, one from each corner of the chamber. Their faces were hard, their manner imposing despite their small size, and the menace that radiated from them made Linden’s mouth go dry with fear.
“So much for your kingdom of justice and peace,” said Timothy bitterly. “Is that how you keep your people in line here—just throw out anyone who dares to disagree with you?”
“Give us the herbs,” said one of the faery guards, holding out her hand, and with a scowl Timothy swung his backpack off his shoulder. He opened the side pocket, pulled out the wilted, muddy clump he had taken from St. David’s churchyard, and flung it at the guards’ feet.
Linden looked at Garan, silently begging him to stand up and do something to support them. But he would not meet her gaze, and before she could even speak his name he vanished. Like stars winking out, the other Children of Rhys followed his example, and in moments every seat in the chamber was empty.
Her eyes prickled as she stared at the place where Garan had been. His desertion hurt, but it also stunned her to see how easily these faeries could transport themselves from one place to another with a single thought. Surely, if the Children of Rhys had that much power, it would have been no difficulty for them to share some of it with the Oakenfolk. Yet they had not been willing to do even that, except on their own impossible terms…and now her people’s last hope of salvation was gone.
“I’m sorry,” she heard Timothy say in a low voice. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
Linden took his hand and squeezed it. “Don’t apologize,” she said softly. “You were right.”
“Walk,” said another of the guards, pointing his spear toward the sculpted archway through which they had come. Wiping her eyes on her sleeve, Linden obeyed—and in a few steps she and Timothy emerged once more at the edge of the little wood, with the wildflower-dotted meadow stretching before them. Two of the guards stepped out in front of them, while the other two fell in behind, and in silence they waded through the tangled, hissing grass until they reached the shoreline.
“The boat is there,” the female guard said, pointing imperiously. “Get into it, and be gone.”
Timothy went first, tossing his backpack into the bottom of the boat with a thump and climbing in after it. His face was set with anger, but Linden felt only a weary sadness. She was just about to follow when she heard Garan’s voice, and turned back to see him standing in the midst of the four guards, gesturing earnestly as he talked with them. They seemed unimpressed, but at last the leader nodded, and he and all but one male guard disappeared.
“I’ll just be a moment, Llinos,” said Garan. Then he hurried down the stairs to meet Timothy and Linden on the beach.
“I came to plead with you,” he said, clasping Linden’s hand between both his own. “It is not too late for you to accept the Elders’ offer. If you return with me now, and tell them you are sorry—”
“I am not sorry,” she said, pulling her hand back and curling it into a fist. “There is no place here for me or my people, whatever your Elders might say.”
Garan’s shoulders slumped. “Then I can only bid you good-bye.”
“Come with us,” Linden urged, but he shook his head.
“I cannot,” he said. “For all that I spoke boldly of taking a stand, I am not ready to leave the Gwerdonnau Llion. Not yet.” He backed away from the boat, one hand lifting in a sad farewell. Then he vanished.
Emotion welled up in Linden, threatening to shatter her composure. Ducking her head so that the watching guard would not see her face, she stepped into the boat and sat down, hands folded in her lap. She had just settled herself when a great wave rushed in, lifting the vessel from the sand and pulling it out to sea.
As they floated toward a set of pillars that looked just like the ones closer to the shore, Timothy rested his chin on his hand, staring into the distance. After a moment he said, “I didn’t take Garan for such a coward.”
“Don’t judge him too harshly,” she replied, though it was hard to keep her voice from trembling. “He did what he could.”
Timothy gave a derisive snort. “If you say so. It sounded like a lot of useless talk to me.”
Linden forced herself to keep silent until the waves carried them through the portal, and they emerged safely on the other side. Then she broke into a smile, and opened her hand to reveal the parting gift Garan had given her.
“Is that—” started Timothy, sitting bolt u
pright in his seat, but Linden held a warning finger to her lips. For all they knew, the Children of Rhys might still be listening.
“We’ll talk about it later,” she said, trying to sound sad and hopeless—as indeed she had been, until Garan pressed the Stone of Naming into her hand. “Right now, all I want is to get back to shore.”
The tide was high as they reached the little cove, and their boat pitched and rolled as it rode the breakers in. Linden made herself small and leaped into the air, easily dodging the spray, but Timothy was forced to leap for the cliffside, and a cold wave drenched his legs at once. Hands numb, feet slipping wetly inside his shoes, he scrabbled for a hold on the rocks and then began edging up the narrow, treacherous path toward the mainland.
“I can’t see the Blackwings anywhere,” called Linden from above. After a moment she added hopefully, “But we were gone for hours. Maybe they’ve given up?”
“It’d be…nice…to think so.” Timothy panted, all his concentration focused on not slipping. It seemed forever before he reached the top of the cliff, and when he got there he was spent: He collapsed onto the muddy grass and lay there, not even caring whether the Blackwings were coming or not.
“Are you all right?” asked Linden.
Timothy licked the sea salt off his lips and let his head fall back with a gentle thud. “Yeah,” he croaked. “Just give me a minute.”
Linden sat down on a rock by his side, the Stone of Naming cupped in her hand. “I can’t believe Garan just gave it to us,” she said softly, turning it over in her fingers. “He must have known he’d be punished, maybe even exiled, when the other Children of Rhys found out. And yet he wouldn’t come with us either.”
Timothy struggled up onto his elbows and looked out over the edge of the cliff. There was no trace left of the Green Isles or the boat that had carried them there, just the empty, wind-chopped sea. Even the little cove with the standing stones had vanished, as though it had been nothing more than a dream. “He’s never lived anywhere but those islands,” he said slowly. “Maybe he just can’t bring himself to leave unless he’s got no other choice.”
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