Bindings

by Carla Jablonski

  He settled onto a boulder and seemed to be studying Tim as intently as Tim was studying him. Tim wondered how he was measuring up. This scrutiny was worse than being kidnapped. Tim felt as if he were being tested, and he didn’t even know in what subject.

  The man leaned forward and held up the curved hunting knife that not too long ago had been pressed against Tim’s throat. “Hold out your hands,” he said.

  Tim hesitated. That knife looked awfully sharp.

  The man’s brown eyes never wavered from Tim’s, and he held very still, as if a sudden movement might cause Tim to bolt. The man nodded once as if to say “it’s all right, chap,” and gestured with his gloved hand for Tim to come closer.

  Tim held out his arms and the man cut the bindings. Tim rubbed his sore wrists. Those leather ties were tight!

  The man tossed his knife to the dirt, stood, and paced. Now that Tim felt less vulnerable, and his kidnapper was farther away and unarmed, he was able to take in his surroundings. They seemed to be in some vast desert. There was nothing green anywhere. It was all dirt, tumbleweed, boulders, and rocks under a bleached-out sky. Tim and this man were probably the only living things for miles; nothing could survive in this bleak landscape.

  Finally the man addressed Tim. “You may ask me three questions. That’s the rule.”

  Tim raised an eyebrow. So wherever they were, there were rules and this man was abiding by them. That gave Tim a bit of courage, even though he didn’t know what any of those rules might be.

  “What do you want with me?” There. Tim had asked his first question. Straight and to the point.

  “I want to find out what you’re made of,” the man responded.

  Hm. Does he mean literally? As in, flesh, blood, and bone? Or like in the nursery rhyme—snips and snails and puppy dog tails. It occurred to Tim that might be what the knife was for—to dissect him like a frog in biology class. Then Tim decided that, despite all the weirdness he’d been through, his imagination was working overtime. This guy wouldn’t have gone to all the trouble of kidnapping Tim and bringing him to this place as a lab experiment. No. He must mean something else. Which was just as confusing.

  “Why?” Tim asked. What does it matter to this bloke what sort of person I am?

  “Look around you, boy,” the man ordered. “You’re no stranger to this twilight realm, I know. So tell me. Have you ever seen such pretty groves or heard a river make such music anywhere but in Faerie?”

  The man knelt down in a shallow trench, and Tim realized it had once been a riverbed—a river that had gone dry ages ago, judging by the looks of things.

  “This is Faerie? I don’t believe you,” Tim scoffed. “I’ve been to Faerie, and it’s all green and pretty and full of flowers.”

  The man smiled sadly. “It has been that. It is not that now. Not here where we can truly see.”

  “You haven’t answered my question,” Tim pointed out.

  “Haven’t I?” The man gave him a quizzical look.

  “I asked you why you wanted to find out what I’m made of.”

  The man turned his back to Tim and gazed out across the wasteland. He sounded weary. “Because this land was once alive and I would have it live again.” He turned to face Tim. “And you may or may not be the key to the healing of it.”

  Whoa. That wasn’t the answer Tim had expected. And this bloke certainly hadn’t been treating him like the answer to all of his problems. “So you kidnap and threaten me? Of course, it all makes perfect sense,” Tim said sarcastically.

  Everyone is acting like their opposites today, Tim thought. First, Dad plays devoted parent, and now this one treats me worse than an enemy, when what he wants is my help.

  The man kept his back to Tim. His knife still lay on the ground between them. Tim had a feeling he was being tested.

  “It’s no use trying to make me mad,” Tim said. “I’m not going to grab your stupid knife.”

  The man spun around, his face cruel. “Do you want to die here?” he growled.

  Tim lunged forward to grab the knife. As he did, his toe nicked a pebble, and he stumbled, catching his foot on his ankle. He went sprawling to the ground. Furious, frustrated, and humiliated, he scrambled for the knife, although the man was standing still, just observing.

  Tim picked up the knife, scowled at it, then flung it aside. “I don’t like tests,” he grumbled. He sat cross-legged on the ground. “I always mess up.” Particularly the grab-a-weapon-while-you-can kind of test.

  The man picked up his knife. “If you’re going to ask a third question, you’d best ask now. It’s time.”

  Tim knew exactly the question he wanted to ask. It was what he’d learned was important during his first visit to Faerie. “What is your name?”

  Tim waited for the man’s reaction. He might get mad—it was considered impolite to ask a person his name. Instead, you were supposed to ask someone, “What are you called?” That was because names had power, Tim had discovered, and knowing someone’s true name meant you had power over him. It told you a truth about him.

  It had taken Tim a bit of time to learn that lesson. But his guides, the Trenchcoat Brigade, had given his name to several people on their journey, which in retrospect was a little disturbing. It suddenly occurred to him: Maybe “Timothy Hunter” isn’t my “true” name. Maybe “Timothy Hunter” is simply what I am called.

  Tim decided to think about the implications of that little idea later.

  The man seemed to consider the question, then said, “Tamlin.”

  Tim’s eyes never left the man’s rugged face. Is that his true name? Tim wondered.

  “So you have my name,” Tamlin said. “Will you curse me now?”

  Interesting. It is his real name.

  “Curse me all you want,” Tamlin said, almost as if he were daring Tim to do so. “You wouldn’t be the first. Nor, I imagine, will you be the last. That has been my road.”

  Go all pathetic, why don’t you? Tim thought. The man’s complaints didn’t match his rugged appearance. “Do you feel sorry for yourself all the time? Or just when you’re terrorizing people?”

  Tamlin gave Tim a sharp look and took a step closer to him. “If a man said that to me, I’d feed him slices of his heart until he choked.”

  “I’m sure you would,” Tim scoffed. He rolled his eyes dramatically.

  Tim’s head snapped back as the man cracked his hand across his face.

  “You need to learn respect, child,” Tamlin said.

  Tim blinked his eyes. He was more startled than hurt, but he wasn’t going to give this creep the satisfaction of seeing him react. He made his face go blank.

  “You’re fearless enough, I’ll give you that,” Tamlin said. Tim could hear approval in his voice. “And you have vision. Vision enough to know that some truths are best unspoken.” Tamlin laughed. “Keep your insights to yourself, boy. Not everyone appreciates your sort of wisdom. If you learn nothing else from me, learn that.”

  Tim said nothing; he glared at Tamlin. He didn’t trust his voice to speak.

  Tamlin yanked the amulet he wore around his neck so hard the leather cord snapped. He held it up, and the stone glinted in the bright light. Tim could not place the color. One minute, it seemed to be purplish blue. At another angle it glowed silver. From another it looked deep red.

  “You’ve done well, Timothy Hunter,” Tamlin said, “very well. I had not thought you would.”

  “Well, I like that!” Tim protested. “You assumed I’d fail your stupid test?” He didn’t bother to ask how Tamlin knew what to call him. Magical people all seemed well aware that he was called “Timothy Hunter,” as if it were posted on a bulletin board somewhere.

  Tamlin ignored Tim’s outburst. He held out the amulet. “This is yours now. Take it.”

  “No way,” Tim declared. “If this really is Faerie, then I know the rules. If I take a gift from you I have to reciprocate in a manner you choose. I’m never fooled the same way twice.”

&nb
sp; Tamlin grinned. “You do learn your lessons, don’t you? Well, let me assure you, this is no Faerie trick. You see, I am not one of the Fair Folk. You and I can exchange gifts without repercussion.”

  Tim’s eyes narrowed as he tried to determine if Tamlin was telling the truth.

  “You have my name,” Tamlin reminded him. “I swear by it that I give this to you with no expectation or price.”

  “Okay, then.”

  Tamlin handed Tim the amulet. It was a heavy stone, cool despite the sun beating down on it. Now it was a golden-bronze color. “What is it?” Tim asked.

  “In your hands? I can’t say. It could be I’ve dared my Queen’s anger, and much more, to give you nothing. Some things are what you make of them.”

  Tim sighed. Why does everyone in these strange places speak in riddles?

  “It has been called an Opening Stone,” Tamlin added. “What it opens will be up to you.”

  Tim gazed down at the Opening Stone. When he glanced back, Tamlin was a small figure in the distance. How did he get away so quickly? And why would he just split like that?

  Tim scrambled to his feet. “Hey! Hey wait!” he called. “Where are you going?”

  Tamlin got smaller and smaller. Tim began to run. What would he do if Tamlin left him here in the desert?

  “Wait! Come back! How am I supposed to get home?”

  Tamlin disappeared behind a rock. Tim put on a burst of speed and rounded the large boulder.

  “You can’t just leave…” Tamlin was nowhere in sight. All that remained were his long coat, his boots, his shirt, and his trousers. Tim’s eyes widened. The guy is out wandering around—naked? Tim noticed he had also left behind his knife and his gauntlet. Weird. But no matter how hard Tim peered into the distance, no matter which direction he looked, he saw nothing but empty landscape. The only sign of life was a large hawk circling overheard.

  Great, Tim thought. Alone in a desert with a bird.

  Chapter Three

  TIM SANK ONTO THE BOULDER AND kicked a pebble. “Gone. He’s just gone,” he muttered.

  I don’t get it. I passed his stupid test. So why would he leave me out here to fry? Oh. Because this is a test, too, Tim realized, a big one: to get myself home.

  As much as Tim hated to admit it, even to himself, he wanted to do well on this test. He wanted that Tamlin bloke’s respect. Besides, it is bloody hot in the desert, and as bad as gym class and Ravenknoll Estates may be, I don’t want to die here. After all I’ve been through recently, that would be a dumb way to sign out.

  Tim tried to remember details from adventure films about surviving in the desert. First thing, cover your head. Don’t want to go all heat stroke-ish. He removed his sweatshirt and wrapped it around his head in a kind of turban.

  He looked at the clothing Tamlin had left behind. “So he’s abandoned you, too,” Tim said to the leather coat.

  That has got to be expensive, Tim thought. He lifted up the coat. Oof. It weighed a ton. Forget about bringing it to Bertram’s Used Clothes Emporium to fetch some pocket money. No way was Tim going to lug that hefty item around in the desert.

  The boots were far too big for him—no use there. He stared at the gauntlet and the knife. He shook his head. “Another bloody test.” He decided to leave them behind. He had no need for hand-me-downs.

  He gripped the amulet that Tamlin had given him. “Which way?” he murmured, studying the landscape. The stone grew warm in his hand. Startled, Tim wondered if the rise in temperature was due to his own body heat warming it or if it had responded to his question.

  Tim looked at Tamlin’s large footprints in the sand, which ended at the pile of clothes. He figured his way back home was not going to be in the same direction Tamlin had taken. Tim stepped into the deep impressions, facing the opposite way.

  Tim shut his eyes and concentrated on the stone. It was smoother and rounder on one end than the other, like an arrowhead, only it wasn’t flat. Would it answer his question?

  “Which way?” he asked. This time he said it loudly, as if he were demanding an answer.

  The stone grew warm again. Tim took a step. Then he turned right and took several more steps. Now the stone’s temperature dropped. He hastily returned to his original spot. Once again, the stone grew warm.

  “Like that kids’ game,” Tim realized. “Getting warmer, getting colder.” Holding the stone out in front of him like a compass, Tim began making his way through the desert.

  Nothing about his surroundings reminded him in the slightest of Faerie. The land he had visited was lively and beautiful, filled with lakes, trees, valleys, and creatures of all variety. There were smells and sounds and crisp, clean air. Here was…nothing. Grit. Dust. Silence. The only sounds were Tim’s raspy breathing and the crunching noise his feet made on the pebbles underfoot. The only smells were his own sweat and gravel, and the air felt heavy.

  Tim trudged on. He was getting thirsty. There were several problems with that. First, there didn’t seem to be any water around. Second, if this strange, sad place was Faerie, then he couldn’t eat or drink anything here anyway or he would be trapped forever. It was one of the rules of the place. But he didn’t know how much longer he could last. The sun was starting to set, so at least it would cool down. But the wind was picking up. The breeze chilled the sweat coating his body.

  Tim had to stop. He sank to his knees. He was starting to shiver with hunger, fatigue, and maybe even fear. He held the stone. I wish I was home, he thought. Now.

  And he was.

  Chapter Four

  TAMLIN KNELT DOWN AND SCOOPED UP a handful of red sand, allowing it to sift through his fingers. He picked up a dead tree branch and placed it in the small leather sack he had retrieved after returning to human form. The twigs were signs of withering. Evidence my lady would deny, Tamlin thought, as she denies all she finds disturbing.

  Still crouching, he scooped up another handful and this time filled his sack with the sand. What’s out of sight is out of mind for my lady, he mused. She sees only what pleases her. She has such an ability for this that she still sees Faerie as a lush paradise—filled with natural wonders. She literally can’t see the dust—she can’t see what Faerie has become. Tamlin shook his head. He wished sometimes that he could do the same.

  “Falconer!” A voice called out behind him.

  Tamlin slowly turned his head but didn’t bother getting up. “Mazaran,” Tamlin greeted the Queen’s courtier. “I didn’t know you spoke to mortals.”

  “My Queen requires your presence, Falconer. I believe she is angry with you.”

  “Is she? She’ll be angrier soon.”

  “Spare me your insolence. Move. Now.”

  “Wait.” Tamlin felt the sharp edge of Mazaran’s blade on the back of his neck.

  “Wait for what?” Mazaran demanded.

  “For the wind to shift.” Tamlin scooped up more sand. “There!” He tossed the sand into Mazaran’s face.

  “Aggh!” the courtier cried. His hands flew to his face, and he stumbled first to his knees and then to the ground.

  “Dog’s son,” Mazaran cursed. “You’ve blinded me.”

  “So I see,” Tamlin replied. “But it’s only sand, Mazaran. Cry for a while and when you’re done, you’ll be no blinder than you’ve been all your life.”

  Tamlin turned his back on the Faerie courtier. “Pity the elf lord,” Tamlin called out to the empty landscape, “vanquished by dirt.”

  Tamlin threw his head back and held out his arms. His body shimmered and shrunk: arms into wings, feet into talons. Feathers sprouted where once there was only skin. Tamlin discarded his human shape as easily as his clothing—once again transforming into a falcon.

  His wings pumped, taking him higher and higher into the sky while the courtier still lay sniveling on the ground. The freedom of flight was exhilarating and Tamlin never tired of it.

  Mazaran is like all the rest of his Faerie kindred, Tamlin thought as he soared toward the Queen’s castle.
Arrogant. Contemptuous of mortal kind. And like all the rest of them, prone to overlooking the obvious. Until some scapegrace like me throws it in his face.

  Tamlin saw the turrets of the castle beyond the next rise. In Tamlin’s eyes the rolling hills had lost their green luster, but he knew that most of Faerie’s inhabitants—perhaps all—saw only lush green carpets of grass and flowers. Tamlin saw the truth, while the Fair Folk saw an illusion.

  It is the way of the Fair Folk to veil the real with enchantment, Tamlin thought. They cloak all that is drab or dull or flawed with spells of glamour—and so now they cloak the reality of what Faerie has become in the same way.

  Tamlin knew that to the Fair Folk, as something was, it always would be. Nothing ever changed. The ability to see reality and to change was man’s magic. My magic, Tamlin thought. He was aware that one day this trait could be the death of him. Perhaps that day would be today.

  Am I giving you what you want, Titania? he wondered. Will my truth provide you with an excuse to cut off my head for treason? No matter. I do what I must.

  Ah, Titania. Tamlin circled the palace grounds searching for the Queen, the twig he had retrieved earlier in his beak. I wish there were a gentler way to shake the sleep from your eyes. I warned you that the borderlands were crumbling, but you laughed and dismissed me. The decay has worsened, milady. And I can’t be gentle any longer.

  He spotted Titania below, asleep on one of the settees on the back terrace. He would wake her now. Once and for all.

  Titania’s long hair spread out on an embroidered pillow, her elegant gown draped fetchingly. Tamlin landed and worked the change that transformed him back into a man. He removed the branch from his mouth and held it in his hand. “Wake up, Titania,” he said. “I’ve brought you a gift. Something you’re not often given. Truth.”

  Titania’s ever-changing eyes fluttered open. They were a deep violet now, still heavy with sleep. “You’re raving, Falconer,” she murmured. “I find it tedious.”