Faery Rebels

by R. J. Anderson

  “What can you tell us?” asked Knife.

  “Can’t prove it, but…now I know more about Jasmine, I think…maybe Snowdrop’s death wasn’t…an accident.”

  “But the South Root tunnel collapsed on top of her,” said Valerian. “I read of it in the death records—three other faeries perished the same way. What else could it be?”

  “You’re forgetting,” said Thorn, with sudden grimness. “Our people had magic then. All of them.”

  Campion nodded. “By then…Jasmine had…already made herself popular at Court,” she said. “She was…next in line…for the throne. And she was there…when the roof fell in.”

  “But there must have been witnesses,” Knife said. “If she’d used magic, they would have noticed—”

  “No,” said Campion. “Kitchen workers…heard a rumble, went to see what was going on…found Jasmine scrabbling in the dirt…trying to get to the Queen.”

  “As any loyal subject would do,” said Valerian.

  “Or any murderer who wanted to look like a loyal subject,” retorted Thorn. “I know it’s a thin twig for such a heavy acorn. But my gut tells me Campion’s right.”

  “So does mine,” admitted Knife. “But if it’s true that Jasmine murdered Snowdrop—what does that say about Amaryllis? Surely, if Jasmine was that powerful and that determined, she’d never have given up the throne except by force?”

  The faeries all looked at one another, but no one spoke.

  “Let me finish this diary,” said Knife, sitting down by Campion’s bedside and opening it up again. “Then maybe we’ll know.”

  My time is near now, I can feel it; I am glad that Lavender has prepared herself to attend me, so that I shall not have to labor alone. Such a dear and faithful friend—whatever should I do without her?

  The next entry read:

  The ordeal is past, and my daughter safely born. I wish that Philip could see her, with her gray eyes so like his. She is perfect, a faery to make the Oak proud: I have nursed her and laid her down to sleep, but I find it hard not to steal glances at her even as I write. Already it breaks my heart to think of leaving her, and I cannot help wishing that there were another way….

  But Heather’s delight in her new daughter was soon shadowed by uneasiness as she learned more about the situation in the Oak. It disturbed her particularly to learn that she was not the only one who had lately returned from Outside; apparently Queen Jasmine had sent word that all the Oakenfolk must attend her to swear fealty, and three other faeries had already left their missions in order to do so.

  Why this made Heather so anxious, Knife was not sure, but it was not long before she found out. Only two entries later the Oak’s uneasy peace was shattered forever.

  I can scarcely write these words for weeping, and the pain within me is so great that I fear my heart must burst rather than contain it. Jasmine—I will not call her Queen now, for she is no liege of mine—has betrayed us all. Great Gardener, have mercy upon us!

  With pounding heart Knife read through the few pages of the diary that remained. She had already begun to suspect Jasmine of having a hand in the Sundering, but even her darkest imaginings had not prepared her for Heather’s final entry:

  Lavender is lost to me, her reason and her memory overthrown; she babbles nonsense, and whenever I speak of humans she claps her hands to her ears and screams. The whole Oak is in chaos, faeries milling and bleating like sheep; they hear only Jasmine’s voice, not mine, no matter how I plead. The horror is unbearable—I cannot leave my daughter here—I must escape. Yet how can I return to Waverley, trapped in this small body and robbed of all my magic? Even if by some miracle I could survive the journey, how could I endure the sight of Philip’s face when he learns that he has lost not only his daughter, but his beloved Muse as well?

  Yet I have no choice. It will not be long before Jasmine discovers that my mind remains unclouded, and that I cannot submit to her schemes. I must leave tonight, with the moon to light my path and my little Valerian in my arms; for even if we perish, it will be a better fate than the one Jasmine offers us.

  I shall put this diary away in a secret place, with a prayer that someday it may be found by those with the wits to comprehend it, and the courage to bring the truth to light again. Forgive me that I can do no more. Farewell.

  Numbly Knife let the diary fall. “Jasmine,” she whispered. “She cast the Sundering—but why? Why?”

  She glanced over at Campion, but the Librarian’s eyes had closed again. Across the room, Thorn was still arguing with Valerian about the practical merits of eggs as opposed to children, and neither of them seemed to have noticed Knife’s distress.

  Not that it mattered. She was grateful for their help, and Wink’s, too, but they had risked enough for her already. This riddle she would solve alone, even if she had to demand the truth from Queen Amaryllis herself.

  And yet something nagged at her mind, a sense that she had the answer already but had somehow failed to see it. She thought back on all she had learned about Jasmine, fragments of Heather’s diaries floating through her mind:

  A gown in need of mending…the bodice was badly torn and one sleeve ripped…

  “I have gained some little skill as an artist since I went away.” She smiled, but her eyes remained bitter….

  I had thought she would be pleased with my good fortune, but her own sad experience had filled her with misgivings, and she all but pleaded with me not to go….

  His temper was legendary, added Paul’s voice unexpectedly, and just like that, Knife knew. Jane Nesmith, the beautiful, the mysterious; the woman who had vanished, and left Alfred Wrenfield madly painting faeries….

  Jasmine.

  Slowly Knife bent and picked up Heather’s last diary from the floor. She laid it on the bedside table and said in her calmest voice, “I’m just going upstairs for a bit.” Then without waiting to hear what Valerian or Thorn would say, she slipped out.

  Queen Amaryllis sat at her writing desk, her back to the door. She was dressed in a faded blue tunic and skirt that spoke less of elegance than comfort, her only mark of office a slim circlet about her brow. “What is it, Bluebell?” she said, but then her head came up like a fox on the scent and her body went very still, as though she had already realized her mistake.

  “Your Majesty,” said Knife, “we need to talk.”

  Twenty

  “Have you returned already?” asked Queen Amaryllis, turning in her seat. Then her gaze fell to Knife’s bandaged ankle, and she exclaimed, “You are hurt!”

  She sounded concerned, and Knife felt an unexpected stab of guilt. “It’s not serious,” she said. “I mean, it’ll take a few days to heal, but…that’s not what I came to tell you.”

  Amaryllis’s brows rose. “Very well: Speak.”

  Knife stood up straighter, gathering courage. “I didn’t go looking for other faeries today.”

  “So you lied to me.” The Queen’s face darkened. “Why?”

  Quickly Knife explained about Heather’s diaries and what she had learned from them, taking care not to mention Wink and Thorn, but to make it sound as though she had made all these discoveries alone.

  “And once I knew Heather’s story,” she continued, “I was able to piece together Jasmine’s as well. She too had loved a human, an artist named Alfred Wrenfield—but one day he became angry and struck her, betraying her trust and shattering the bond between them. She left him and returned to the Oak, but all the while her bitterness grew, until she had convinced herself that all humans were just as brutal and unworthy as her lover had been. She tried to persuade the other faeries to stop going Outside, telling them they should be content with the skills and knowledge they already had. But no one listened to her, and in the end she decided the only way to free the Oakenfolk from their dependence on humans was by force.

  “She murdered Snowdrop and took her place as Queen, then ordered all the faeries who had gone Outside to return to the Oak. They obeyed her without questi
on, and once Heather’s child was born, she had only to wait for the next full moon to carry out her plan.

  “On that night Jasmine stepped out of the Oak and cast a terrible dark magic spell, tapping into the power of all the other Oakenfolk and twisting it against them. First she changed their bodies, so that they could replace themselves with eggs instead of needing human mates. Then she confused their memories, so that they wouldn’t be able to remember what the Outside world was like; and finally she planted in them a powerful fear of humans, so that they would never be tempted to go near one again. The Sundering used up nearly all the power the Oakenfolk had, but Jasmine believed her actions would be worth the cost, for now her people would be free of human influence forever.

  “Since then Jasmine and nearly all the faeries she changed have disappeared or died out,” Knife finished. “The new generation of Oakenfolk aren’t confused like the old ones were, and we’re not as frightened either. But still the belief that humans are monsters lives on—and now I know it’s killing us.”

  Throughout this speech, Amaryllis had kept her eyes lowered and her face impassive. Now her head snapped up, and her voice took on a cutting edge as she replied:

  “That is killing us, you say? The simple belief that humans are a threat to our people? How can they be anything less, when they are so large and powerful, and we have so little magic with which to defend ourselves? And what of the other dangers that have claimed so many lives—the crows, the foxes, the electrical wires? What of the Silence, which has been responsible for nearly every death among us since the Sundering?”

  The Queen rose from her chair, her face stony. “Have a care, Knife. You may well take pride in your own cleverness for discovering the truth—and yes, it is the truth, I do not deny it. But if you mean to tell me that after a few nights of skulking at windows and reading books you have learned more about humans than I knew after eighty years of living in their midst…”

  “Eighty years?” said Knife, taken aback.

  “A ‘scholarly venture,’ the historians called it,” said Amaryllis, her lips pursing with contempt. “In those days students of humanity such as myself were often overlooked, our work taken for granted. But without the information we passed back to the Oak, faeries like Heather would have been ill-prepared for their missions; they would have been unlikely even to meet gifted humans such as Alfred Wrenfield and Philip Waverley, let alone have opportunity to bond with them.”

  Knife blinked at this, and the Queen’s mouth curled in a mirthless smile. “You look surprised: Did you think that all faeries who left the Oak were seeking human mates? No doubt Heather and Jasmine’s stories made you think so, but in truth such unions were rare. The rest of us made acquaintances among humans both male and female, but seldom became their close friends; in this way we could spread our influence more widely among them, and encourage them to greater creativity even if we could not inspire them to genius.”

  “But…we couldn’t make eggs before Jasmine changed us,” said Knife slowly. “So if only a few faeries ever married humans, and only their daughters came back to the Oak…shouldn’t we have died out long before the Sundering?”

  “In times of need,” said Amaryllis, “there were other ways of finding children. The stories about changelings are not wholly fables; though in truth it was not loved and wanted children that we took from the humans, but the orphaned, abused, and neglected. Jasmine herself was one such, though she would have scorned to admit it.”

  “All right,” said Knife. “That makes sense—but there’s still something I don’t understand. If Jasmine cast her spell on everyone in the Oak, how did you escape?”

  “I ignored her summons,” the Queen replied. “I was busy at the time, and it seemed unreasonable that I should return to the Oak on such short notice. Besides, the news of the call had come to me secondhand, so I had reason to believe that Jasmine had forgotten my existence—I told you already that scholars of my kind were often overlooked.”

  “But you came back anyway, in the end,” said Knife. “Why?”

  “The night Jasmine cast her spell, I dreamed of faery voices crying out for help, and knew that something was wrong. I cast off my human guise and returned to the Oak; but I was too late to undo what Jasmine had done.

  “I could not even save Heather,” she went on bitterly, “for Jasmine had already caught her and two others trying to escape, and pronounced them traitors. Whether she was enraged by their disobedience or merely her own failure to bend them to her will, I do not know; but she lost no time in carrying out the execution, and by the time I reached the throne room, there was nothing left of them but eggs.” Her face contorted with disgust. “By the Gardener, how I loathed those eggs when I first saw them—”

  “Was it then that you challenged her?” Knife asked.

  “It was. Though I feared to lose,” said Amaryllis, “for her magic had always been the stronger. But the effort of casting the Sundering had weakened her, and in the end I was victorious. I stripped her of her remaining powers, and executed the most fitting punishment I could devise.” She gave a tight smile. “I transformed her into a human and banished her from the Oak forever.”

  Knife stared at her, appalled.

  “And yet the shadow she had cast over the Oak remained, for all I sought to dispel it. I could not persuade the faeries she had altered to look favorably on humans again, and once I saw how weak and vulnerable they had become, I realized that it would be dangerous to try. And when the first eggs hatched, I found to my dismay that the new faeries had no magic at all—so I was forced to make them capable of creating eggs as well, for I could see no other way to prevent our people from dying out.”

  “So that’s what you were doing to Linden,” said Knife. “And I stopped you.”

  “Yes,” said the Queen. “But understand that I only altered the new faeries’ bodies; I did not touch their minds. And before all else, I gave back to each of them a small portion of the magic I had taken from Jasmine.” She looked down at her hands. “Small recompense for a great wrong, I know; but it was all the power I could spare without putting the Oak itself in jeopardy.”

  Now at last Knife understood what old Bryony had meant in her letter: To Queen Amaryllis, who has done all she could…“Your Majesty,” Knife said, “I misjudged you. I apologize.”

  “And well you might,” said Amaryllis with sudden harshness, “for you have done me a great wrong.” She walked toward Knife and looked up into her face. “When you saved me from the fox even after seeing me cast my spell on Linden, I believed that your loyalty had proven stronger than your doubts, and that I could trust you. And when you told me of your plan to leave the Oak and search for other faeries, I rejoiced to think that my confidence in you had been so well repaid…but I see now that this was nothing but deceit.”

  She seized Knife’s chin in her hand, forcing her not to look away. “Do you think I cannot tell that you have been with a human? The scent of him is all over you. And did you think I had not noticed the state of your wings?” Her eyes bored into Knife’s, accusing. “You have not only endangered yourself and the Oak, you have made yourself useless as my Hunter. For the sake of your own selfish curiosity you have rebelled against my commands, you have deceived me at every turn, and now you have robbed me of the last hope I had for saving our people—how dare you come here and boast of your discoveries, when it is I and your sisters who must pay the price?”

  “Your Majesty,” said Knife in desperation, “you don’t understand—”

  Her words ended in a gasp as Amaryllis brought both hands down in a sweeping gesture and a sheet of white flame sprang up around their feet. “I have given you the truth,” said the Queen coldly, the pale fire reflected in her eyes. “Now it is time for you to repay in kind.”

  Knife struggled, but her feet were fastened to the floor, her hands too heavy to move. “You don’t need to do this!” she pleaded with the Queen. “I’ll answer your questions—just ask!”

>   “I cannot trust your words,” Amaryllis said. “And I am weary of talking. The choice is yours, Knife. If you willingly recall for me your dealings with the humans, I will look at those memories and nothing else; but if you force me to search your mind—”

  “No,” said Knife quickly. “That won’t be necessary.” She closed her eyes, still seeing the dazzling imprint of the Queen’s magic behind them. “I’ll give you what you want.”

  Cool fingertips brushed her temples, rested there. Knife stiffened, but there was no pain, only a slight probing, until—

  Paul climbing the Oak, his child’s face alight with wonder…His rich voice explaining art to her, and the sure movements of his hands as he sketched her for the first time…His muscles taut with fury as he flung the book of photographs to the floor, then slack beneath her hands as she dragged him from the pool…His friendship, his generosity, his readiness to help her…His excitement at driving her to Waverley, his disappointment when she told him good-bye, and then…

  Amaryllis snatched her fingers back; the flames around them died. Still dizzy from the onslaught of memories, Knife lifted her head and looked into the Queen’s shocked face.

  “I know,” said Knife. Her lips still tingled with the memory of Paul’s kiss; she bit them self-consciously. “But you heard what I told him—it’s over. We’ll never see each other again.”

  Amaryllis did not reply. She turned and walked slowly back to her seat, sank down upon it, and folded her hands in her lap. Then at last she said in a voice drained of emotion, “It is too late for that.”