Arrow (Knife)

by Anderson, R. J.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Rhosmari, struggling between embarrassment and confusion. ‘Why are you asking—’

  ‘Because in order to find the courage you need to travel Gruffydd’s Way,’ said Arianllys, ‘you must fix your thoughts on something greater than your fears. And love gives great strength…but so does conviction.’ She put a hand on Rhosmari’s shoulder. ‘If you truly believe that finding Garan and the Stone is the only way to save our people…’

  ‘I know. I have to do this. It’s just—’ Rhosmari bit her lip, and glanced at the tunnel again.

  ‘There is no need for fear,’ Gwylan told her. ‘No enemy or stranger can open Gruffydd’s Way, only the Children of Rhys and those we deem worthy of our trust. On the mainland side, the entrance will be invisible and impenetrable even to you, unless you approach it at low tide and place your hand where you see this mark.’ He pointed to a symbol carved beside the doorway, a circle bisected by a wavering line. ‘Not even Garan and his companions know this secret, so guard it well. Are you ready?’

  Rhosmari nodded.

  ‘Then I wish you success on your journey, Celyn’s daughter.’ He touched his fingers to his forehead in respect, and stepped aside.

  Lady Arianllys bent and kissed her. ‘Take good care,’ she whispered. ‘For you are dear to me as my own child, even though you will never marry my son.’

  ‘Is that a prophecy?’ asked Rhosmari with a feeble attempt at humour, but Arianllys did not answer. She only turned towards her husband and buried her face against his chest. Was the Lady Scholar actually crying? But before Rhosmari could ask what was wrong, Gwylan raised his hand in farewell, and the two of them disappeared.

  Rhosmari turned to face the cliffside. The tunnel gaped before her, wide as a sea serpent’s throat and no less daunting. Even when she kindled a glow-spell and sent it floating through the archway, she could see little of what lay ahead. Only rough-hewn walls and uneven steps leading down into a blackness like spilled ink, too thick for her magic to penetrate.

  She didn’t want to go in there.

  But she had to.

  Rhosmari closed her eyes and whispered a prayer for courage. Then she hefted her pack, straightened her shoulders, and took her first step into Gruffydd’s Way.

  Shadows swarmed around Rhosmari, dragging at her feet and tangling in her hair. Every step into deeper darkness was an agonising effort of will. Her glow-spell hovered beside her, but its scant radiance brought no comfort. At any moment she might faint, and the light would sputter and go out.

  She did not belong here, trapped between water and rock. She was a child of open skies and soft pastures, but this tunnel had transformed her into a blind, crawling earthworm. Her hand gripped the stair rail until the rough stone scored her palm, but even pain could not distract her from the bone-numbing cold. What madness had made her believe that she could do this? She had not even reached the bottom of the stair, and her legs shook as though she had been running.

  Perhaps it was not too late to turn back. She could Leap home again, shove her pack into the back of the wardrobe with her bow and quiver, and forget that tonight had ever happened…

  No. Only a fool and a coward would think such a thing, and she was neither. She was the daughter of Lady Celyn, and her people were counting on her. She would get through this tunnel somehow, even if it took her all night—

  Rhosmari!

  Her stomach lurched as that familiar voice spoke into her mind, faint but unmistakable. Faeries of the same blood, or who had mutually agreed to the arrangement, could speak mind to mind across short distances – and now Lady Celyn was Calling her. If Rhosmari did not answer, it would be obvious that something was wrong…but if she did, her mother would know immediately where to find her. What was she going to do?

  Then she realised the answer. Outside the tunnel, on the beach of Ynys y Porth, two great stones called the Sentinels marked the boundary between the Green Isles and the mortal realm. There were no Sentinels here, at least not as far as she could see, but still the border could not be far away. And once Rhosmari crossed that magical line, it would be difficult for Lady Celyn to stop her.

  Answer me! The Call pierced her mind like an icy needle. Rhosmari pressed a hand to her ear, but she could not shut it out. How long would it be before Lady Celyn picked up one of Rhosmari’s belongings and cast a tracking spell? Urgency gripped her, and she began to hurry down the steps as quickly as she could go.

  At the foot of the stair her glow-spell beamed straight ahead, revealing curving walls that stretched out far into the distance. It was even colder here, but the tunnel widened with every step, and the tightness in Rhosmari’s chest began to ease.

  Where are you, daughter? Speak to me at once!

  This time the Call was so clear, so penetrating, that Lady Celyn had to be nearby. Rhosmari broke into a run, racing down the tunnel as fast as her shaky legs would carry her. The pain in her head was intense, but she forced herself to ignore it. Where was the boundary? It had to be close, and yet—

  There! She could not see it, but she sensed it: a glimmering skin of magic stretched across the tunnel some fifty paces ahead. Rhosmari was panting now and her sides had begun to cramp, but she kept running. Just forty paces left…now thirty…twenty…

  A wave of heat rippled up Rhosmari’s back. The air knotted around her, jerking her to a stop in mid-stride. She struggled, but the invisible net would not break. There was no escape – her mother was coming—

  She was here.

  ‘Fool of a girl!’ snapped Lady Celyn. Loosed from its customary braids and wrappings, her hair haloed her face like a storm cloud. ‘How dare you run off to see the human world, when I expressly forbade you to go?’

  The accusation was so unexpected it made Rhosmari gasp. ‘That’s not what I was doing!’

  ‘Indeed?’ said her mother. ‘Then why are you here?’

  Rhosmari lifted her chin, determined not to show her fear. ‘I am going to the mainland, to find Garan and get back the Stone.’

  For an instant Lady Celyn looked startled. Then her eyes narrowed again. ‘So,’ she said. ‘You have so little respect for your Elders, or your people—’

  ‘That’s not true! I only wanted to help!’

  ‘I am not interested in your motives,’ said her mother coldly. ‘Whether you are arrogant or merely naive makes no difference. Either way, this folly ends now, and you are coming home with me.’

  ‘Why?’ Frustration seethed inside her. ‘Why send an army after Garan, when a single faery might be enough? If you only wait a few more days, and give me the chance—’

  ‘Enough!’ Lady Celyn slashed her hand through the air. ‘I have told you that the mainland is no place for you. Are you truly so incapable of seeing reason?’

  Rhosmari wrestled against the net of spells again. There were gaps in the mesh big enough for her to thrust her hand through, but what good would that do her? Unless…

  ‘I see you are determined,’ said her mother. ‘So be it.’ She drew herself up, tall and pitiless as a goddess. ‘You will come back to the house as my prisoner, and I will weave such spells as will keep you there, until you swear by your true name that you will never try to leave the Green Isles again.’

  Horror gripped Rhosmari. ‘You wouldn’t.’

  ‘I will do whatever I think necessary to protect you from yourself,’ Celyn retorted. ‘Your grandfather – my father – was killed by the humans on the mainland, and I will not allow my only daughter to share his fate. Will not, do you understand?’

  Rhosmari sank back against the net, stunned by the revelation. She knew what it was to lose a father, and Lady Celyn’s words tore at her heart. To think that humans could be so evil, and cause such pain…

  And yet what her mother wanted to do to her was evil, too.

  ‘Then you are no different from the Empress,’ Rhosmari said shakily, as she pulled herself upright again. ‘For you want to force me to obey you, instead of allowing me to c
hoose for myself what is right. And though you are my mother and I love you, I will not let you make me your slave.’

  And with that she extinguished her glow-spell, plunging the tunnel into darkness.

  It only took a moment for Lady Celyn to kindle her own light, but it was enough. In that instant Rhosmari willed herself small and darted free of her mother’s web of spells as it collapsed. With a flurry of her new-grown wings she launched herself into the air, shooting down the tunnel like a loosed arrow – and as she flashed over the boundary to the mortal world, Lady Celyn’s cry of protest cut off as though she had been choked.

  Still Rhosmari dared not hesitate. On this side of the border her mother’s powers were weaker, but so were her own. Her wings blurred as she urged them to greater and greater speed. Yet she was flying blind, and if the tunnel were to curve even a little, she would smash into the wall and knock herself senseless – or worse.

  But no spell pursued her, nor could she hear Lady Celyn calling. And when at last Rhosmari slowed down and looked back the way she had come, she could not see the smallest spark of light. Unwilling even to set foot into the human world, her mother had gone.

  Rhosmari glided to the floor of the tunnel and transformed herself back to her usual size. Her lungs burned and her eyes stung, as though she had been breathing smoke. But she wiped her face on her sleeve, kindled another light, and doggedly continued on.

  Now that she had no choice but to go forward, Gruffydd’s Way no longer seemed as terrible to Rhosmari as it had before. The tunnel was high and spacious, its walls so far apart that even the outspread wings of an albatross could not have touched both at the same time. The stones beneath her feet felt solid, and the roof showed no sign of collapsing. Still, every time she glimpsed a shining thread of water or felt the air grow clammy, she quickened her stride just in case.

  How many hours had passed since she left the Green Isles? Without sun, moon or tides to tell her, Rhosmari had no idea. All she knew was that she had never walked so far in all her life. She had already broken her journey twice to eat some of the food Lady Arianllys had given her, for all that flying had given her a ferocious appetite. But now her stomach felt empty again.

  She had half convinced herself that her mother had trapped her in some cunning illusion, and that she would wander through Gruffydd’s Way forever, when the floor began to slant upwards. Only a few steps ahead lay the foot of a staircase, its broad steps rising into darkness. She had reached the mainland at last.

  Rhosmari paused, surveying the ascent. This tunnel had been built for humans, not the smaller Children of Rhys; she would likely find the climb easier if she made herself human height. How tall had Timothy stood, when he visited them? Perhaps just a little shorter than that…

  She knocked a fist against her forehead in frustration. Not Timothy again. Why had Lady Arianllys reminded her? She had done her best to put him out of her mind, especially once she realised that he and Linden were to blame for what Garan had done. And yet when he told how one of the Empress’s servants had tried to steal his musical talent, Rhosmari had shivered like a plucked bowstring…

  Enough of that, she told herself severely. Collecting her scattered thoughts, she counted stones up the tunnel wall until she reached a measurement that seemed reasonable to her, then grew little by little until she had matched it.

  The stairs looked far less daunting now. Gratified, she began to climb.

  Up and up Rhosmari went, the walls around her narrowing with every step – but she did not mind that much, not when she knew she would soon be free. The stillness in the tunnel broke into a rumble, then swelled to an echoing roar, but Rhosmari recognised the sound of waves crashing against rock, and welcomed it. Finally the stair twisted back on itself and stopped at a door of carved stone, identical to the one Lady Arianllys had opened for her hours ago. Her glow-spell picked out the outline of a wave-crossed circle; she touched it, and the door rasped open.

  Never had the ocean breeze tasted so sweet, though its coldness took her breath away. She saw no moon, but her night vision revealed a great stretch of sand and foam-capped waves, with the shadowy bulk of an island in the distance. Rhosmari stepped out of the tunnel, and when she looked back, the exit to Gruffydd’s Way had vanished. All that lay behind her now was a slanting cliffside, with tufts of grass and gorse springing here and there from the rock.

  Her heart fluttered. What if she could not find the door again? But when she looked closer she glimpsed the familiar symbol, delicately etched into the rock. There was still a way home for her, and perhaps – if the Elders chose to be merciful – for Garan and his followers as well.

  She tried not to think about the possibility that if she failed to bring back the Stone, the Elders might not let her return to the Green Isles either.

  three

  When at last the sun crept over the horizon, it unveiled a rugged and rolling landscape, divided into a patchwork of small fields dotted with sheep. There were no trees in sight, only a few wandering tangles of shrubbery. It had a wild beauty, but it made Rhosmari feel vulnerable, and for the first time she could remember, lonely.

  But stranger things awaited her as she approached the town of St David’s. Until today, she had only ever seen one human, but now they were everywhere. Driving in cars and riding bicycles, both amazing sights in themselves; strolling alone, in couples, in families; walking dogs that yapped and strained at their leashes when she passed by. Even at this early hour, the roads were busy with them, and every time one of them crossed her path it was an effort not to stare.

  Never before had she seen such bulky figures, for though faeries might be lean or stocky they were almost never fat. Nor had she realised what a shock it would be to look into the faces of the older humans and see wrinkles, florid spots, and hair streaked with white. Of course she knew that human lives were brief compared to those of faeries, their bodies far more vulnerable to sickness and decay. But it was one thing to read about it, another to see it firsthand.

  Yet fragile as humans might be, they still had formidable powers. They used cold iron freely, working it into posts and railings, and on her way up from the cathedral Rhosmari almost put her hand on an iron gate before she realised the danger and snatched it away. Iron sapped faeries’ strength and stopped them from doing magic – and in this hostile place she could not afford to be defenceless, even for a moment.

  Especially now that she knew that humans had killed her grandfather.

  How had it happened, and why? Only Lady Celyn could tell her, and there was no chance of asking her now. But despite Rhosmari’s resolve to find Garan and the Stone, it made her queasy to think of it. Until today she had resented her mother for keeping her from the mainland – but now she understood just how dangerous the human world could be.

  And yet it did not look dangerous. The streets of St David’s were cosily narrow, lined with buildings of white plaster and grey stone. Bells tolled out from the ancient cathedral that gave the city its name. Rhosmari was already beginning to feel hungry again, and when she passed an open window and the smell of frying sausage drifted towards her, her stomach groaned with longing. She could only hope she would soon find someone to buy her necklace.

  Fortunately, there was a jeweller’s shop tucked away in a little corner of the High Street, not far from the city square. She waited until the man turned the sign in the window from CLOSED to OPEN – but even then she could not get past the door, for faeries could not enter a human dwelling without invitation. She was reduced to peering in the window and making hopeful gestures until the man came to let her in.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ The jeweller’s voice was gruff, and he looked at her as though he did not like what he saw. But Rhosmari refused to let herself be daunted, for he held no weapon, and did not look quick or strong enough to do her any serious harm.

  ‘I have a pearl necklace I’d like to sell,’ she said.

  As the pearls poured out across his counter, the man’s b
rows shot up. He picked up the necklace in his big, calloused hands and examined it with a lens, then bared his teeth and rubbed the strand across them. When at last he laid the pearls down again, it was with almost reverent care – but then he shook his head.

  ‘You’ve had your fun,’ he said curtly. ‘Now get out of my shop. I don’t do business with thieves.’

  If he had slapped her in the face, Rhosmari could not have been more shocked. ‘I am not a thief!’

  ‘I suppose you just found the pearls then, washed up on the shore? Or did you inherit them from your old aunty, the Queen of Sheba?’ He snatched up the receiver beside him and began jabbing at it. ‘I’m calling the police. They’ll sort this out—’

  She knew what that meant, and she knew it must not happen. In desperation Rhosmari flung up her hands, and magic enveloped the man in its sparkling glow.

  At once the jeweller stopped, his angry look fading to bewilderment. ‘Now who was I calling?’ he murmured. He set the phone back down, blinking and rubbing one eye. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting, miss. How can I help you?’

  But by the time he finished speaking, Rhosmari and her pearls were gone.

  Rhosmari hurried down the street, heart hammering with the nearness of her escape. Why had that jeweller refused to believe that the necklace was hers? Was it because she was young? Or was there something else about her appearance that made him suspicious?

  She paused to consider her reflection in a shop window, but noticed nothing unusual. The only thing that might give her away as a faery were the points on her ears, but her thick, loosely clasped hair hid them in any case.

  Well, she would just have to find another shop that sold jewellery and try again. It was not a pleasant thought, but neither was the hollow feeling in her stomach, nor her growing conviction that someone from the Green Isles would come to arrest her at any moment. Shouldering her pack, Rhosmari set off again.

  It took her several minutes of squinting at one window after another, but at last she found it: a tree-shaped rack of pins and necklaces, tucked between a stack of glazed pottery and a sculpture of a leaping dolphin. She knocked on the door, and waited.