by Richard Due
“Come on,” hissed Lily. “It’s just a name.”
Jasper held out his pinky and reached halfway. Lily pulled hers and Ebb’s closer, but Ebb stopped Lily just shy of hooking their pinkies into Jasper’s.
“It’s your decision to make,” said Ebb.
Jasper looked at them both by turns, took a deep breath, and hooked his pinky into theirs to seal the deal.
“Her name,” Ebb breathed, “is Faerathil.” Lily’s face softened, as if she’d just heard a magic word. “The Faerie Queen.”
“Faerie Queen,” whispered Lily, spellbound.
“Yes. Oh, yes, most certainly—yes! And she can fly, just like—Well . . . throw her into the air and you’ll see.”
Lily hugged the figurine tightly. “She won’t!”
“But I tell you she will. I designed her myself.”
Jasper looked at his dragon. It had wings, too.
“She’s too big and heavy!” exclaimed Lily. “She’ll crash!”
Ebb crossed his legs, clasped his knee with both hands, and sat a little straighter. “Ah, I see. Well, as you grow older, you’ll discover a curious thing about the truth—it plays by its own rules. It cares not one whit about your or anyone else’s beliefs. The truth just is. There is no stopping or changing it. Further, I would counsel you to prepare yourselves, as the truth can be quite far removed from one’s . . . expectations. Now, go ahead—give her a good toss. Do it over the bed if you must, and good luck catching her on the way down.”
Lily loosened her grip and looked at her beautiful figurine. “You’ll fix her when she breaks?”
“She won’t break.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Grimacing, Lily hurled Faerathil into the air. Once free of Lily’s grip, once free in the air—free! like a jinni out of its bottle—she spread her long wings, dipped precariously, then swooped up and away from the bed. Lily let out a little scream—Faerathil was beating her wings and circling the room.
Ebb playfully fell backward onto the bed and pointed to the ceiling. “Launch your dragon, my good man!” he commanded.
Jasper threw his figurine as hard as he could at Faerathil. The instant the dragon left his fingers, its enormous wings snapped open and gave a single great beat, shooting it upward. As if on purpose, it deftly dipped one wing, maneuvered past a tall bedpost, then veered back toward its intended target.
“Oh, my,” said Uncle Ebb.
Lily and Jasper flopped down on either side of their uncle.
“How long will they stay up there, Uncle?” asked Jasper.
Ebb laughed, pointing to Faerathil as she tactfully avoided a midair collision with the dragon. “I—I don’t really know.” The dragon banked hard, flying as if it could sense Faerathil’s flight path. “Did you see that?” asked Ebb, pointing at the dragon and sounding astonished.
Lily let loose with a belly laugh. “My Faerathil’s faster than your dragon!” she yelled.
“Does my dragon have a name too?” asked Jasper.
“Yes,” said Ebb dreamily. “Morgoroth. Morgoroth the Devourer, Keeper of the Magic Flame, the greatest dragon in all the Moon Realm. Or so Faerathil would tell you. It was she, after all, who created him.”
After a merry chase, and several near misses, the figurines spiraled downward—Faerathil landing on Lily, Morgoroth on Jasper.
Even at the age of four, Lily didn’t miss much. “Moon what?”
Ebb sat bolt upright, looking very surprised—both at himself and at his niece. Lily had long been the more mischievous, but now her curiosity had made her dangerously observant; in watching Jasper’s development so closely, Ebb had somehow overlooked this trait in Lily. Jasper was going to have to work hard to keep up with his sister, at least until they were older. And how would Lily react when her brother was no longer so easily manipulated? Ebb didn’t want to know.
“I . . . I have presents for you,” he said, recovering. “In my pockets.”
The children fell on their uncle like ravenous raccoons. Lily pulled out a small pencil worn to a nub. Jasper found a small pad of paper. Then Lily pulled out a second pad, and Jasper a third. During the assault, the top button of Ebb’s collar popped open and Lily spied the glint of metal at his neck. Quick as a dragon bite, she took hold of a thick, golden chain.
“What a pretty necklace,” she said. Ebb’s hand shot up and enclosed her small one. “Can I see it?” she asked.
“No,” said Ebb firmly.
“Please?” she pleaded. Lily patted a lump on Ebb’s chest, just under his shirt. “What’s—”
Ebb grabbed up both of Lily’s hands and looked her squarely in the eyes. “No means no!” he said in a voice that would have sounded harsh to anyone else. It was a phrase Ebb used only when no amount of begging would change his mind, and Lily had heard it plenty.
Lily went back to searching pockets, but something strange had happened.
“They’re all empty now,” she said.
“Nonsense,” replied Ebb. He produced a handkerchief from the pocket Lily had just searched, brushed off some unseen offense from his tan canvas trousers, and then returned it to the same pocket.
Lily dove after it, but again the pocket was empty.
“It’s empty. You lied,” said Lily.
“Are you sure?” said Ebb. “Lying is a pretty big accusation, you know.”
Lily folded her arms. “Grown-ups aren’t supposed to lie.”
“But I didn’t.”
“Did too.”
“Try this one,” offered Ebb, indicating one in a row of pockets sewn down his sleeve.
“No!” said Lily.
“Suit yourself.” Ebb offered the pocket to Jasper.
Jasper dipped in his fingers and closed them around something cold and hard. With a tug, he pulled out a golden disk the size of a drink coaster. Jasper shot Lily a look as though they’d just witnessed real magic.
“My turn,” shouted Lily, thrusting her hand into a random empty pocket. She drew out her hand very slowly, looking disappointed.
“I think it’s hiding from you,” said Ebb. “Try the next one over. That one there.”
Lily reached in tentatively and pulled out a beautiful shell the size of a grape.
“It’s so pretty!” she gasped. “What kind is it?”
“The name doesn’t translate well, I’m afraid,” said Ebb, his voice suddenly sounding far away. “I picked that one up while strolling down a beach . . . while in the company of a most singular woman.”
“Did you give it to her?” asked Lily.
Ebb arched his eyebrows. “Yes,” he said. “I certainly did. If you look carefully, you can still see the small hole where she ran a chain through it.”
“Where’s the chain now?” asked Lily.
A shadow passed over Ebb’s face. “With her,” he said.
“What’s this, Uncle?” asked Jasper, waving the golden disk.
“That’s a dragon scale,” said Ebb, snapping back to the present. “From a very special dragon, named Fendragon.”
“A real one?” asked Jasper, astonished. “It’s not very big.” Ebb smiled.
“Dragon scales come in all sizes, many even smaller than that one.”
“Are you going to tell us a story, Uncle?” asked Jasper.
“No. Not tonight, I think.” Jasper’s small shoulders slumped. “But if you think you’re up to keeping another secret, I might be willing to tell you a tale.”
“There’s a difference?” asked Lily.
“Oh, yes, yes, yes. You see, a story can be made up as easily as you please, or not. But a tale, now that’s a moon of a different color. A tale is an account of things in their due order, often divulged secretly, or as gossip. Wo
uld you like to hear one?”
“Yes, please,” said Jasper.
“What’s gossip?” asked Lily.
Ebb eyed his niece and nephew shrewdly.
“We’ll be quiet,” offered Lily, crawling under the covers—standard practice for bedtime stories.
Ebb tucked them in. “What I’m about to say, I don’t say lightly. And if I am truly to tell you a tale, then it must stay here”—Ebb tapped the tip of his finger to Lily’s temple—“and here”—followed by a tap to Jasper’s temple—“in the little black boxes that live behind your eyes. You must never breathe a word of it, especially to your mother and father. Do you understand?”
Jasper made the dragon pretend to sniff the golden scale. “I won’t say anything,” he said.
Lily held the shell to the Faerie Queen’s ear. “Me either,” she said.
“You won’t find the tales I bear in any books. Well, at least not any books around here. My tales are from the Moon Realm.”
“Where’s that?” asked Lily.
“Sshh!” said Jasper.
“The Moon Realm is a place where nine moons, or worlds—depending on one’s cosmogony—swirl around one another like—”
“What’s cosmogogonanny?” asked Jasper.
“Sshh!” said Lily.
“It’s complicated,” explained Ebb. “Let’s just say . . . the locals each have their own ideas about who’s in charge and leave it at that, shall we?” They nodded. “Good. Very good. Now, the surprising thing about the moons in the Moon Realm is that they circle their sun as a group, bunched up together, as if caught inside a big, ball-shaped net.”
“But don’t they smash into each other?” asked Jasper.
“No,” said Ebb. “But neither do they stray far. They do, however, at very special times, come so close that the tops of the tallest trees of one moon can brush up against the treetops of another.”
“That’s close!” said Lily.
“Why don’t they smash into each other?” asked Jasper.
“Because they don’t. Now, less talking and more listening. On the moon Dain, high on a hill, in the beautiful city of Perianth, lived three very special souls: King Mondain, Queen Naramay, and Fendragon, the Dragon King. They lived in peace, harmony, and friendship: the king and queen in their castle, and Fendragon, along with all his dragon kin, high in their perch-towers, looking down on the city and people they so dearly loved.”
Lily raised her hand. “Do tales have talking squirrels?” she asked softly.
“No,” said Ebb. “Those are only in stories.”
Lily and Jasper exchanged a dubious look. “Some people are just sad when there aren’t talking squirrels,” said Lily. Jasper nodded.
“I think you will find there are other . . . beings . . . who are every bit as interesting as talking squirrels.”
“Like what?” asked Jasper.
“Well . . . let me think,” Ebb’s gaze wandered around the room, as if looking for inspiration. “The Rinn,” he said finally. “They live on a moon named Barreth. . . . They’re cats, of a fashion.”
“Cats,” said Lily, clearly unimpressed.
“Yes . . . more like lions, actually, with wider faces.” Ebb continued. “A full grown Rinn is a little larger than one of Ms. Jenny’s Clydesdales.”
Lily’s eyes opened wide. “Can you ride ‘em?”
“Oh, yes. The men and women of Dain who have that privilege are called Dainriders. You have to be kind of . . . born into it, of course.”
“What else?” said Jasper, now clearly on the hook.
Ebb thought. “On Min Tar, there are giants—eighteen feet tall! They use their forges to fold magic into things.”
“There’s magic?” asked Lily.
“More magic than you can wave a wand at. Of course, the Tinkers use steam and arcane knowledge to make things you would think use magic, but don’t. They’re so secretive, they won’t even tell the name of their moon! And Dik Dek, which is one giant ocean, is alive with coral cities, filled with merfolk, seahorse dragons, and pearls and gardens the likes of which you would have to see to believe.”
“Your pictures!” said Jasper.
Ebb looked down at his hands. “Yes . . . all of my paintings are of the Moon Realm. And they will mean much more to you after you know the tales that go along with them. So . . . now . . . may I start?”
Lily and Jasper leaned back into their pillows, looking very pleased.
Nine years and hundreds of tales later . . . Ebb went missing.
Chapter One
Oscar Knows Things
Lily eyed the piece of bark up close and compared it to the picture in her book. They didn’t match. They never matched. She scowled.
Dark shadows drifted across Ebb’s bright green lawn. A breeze kicked up, carrying with it the ringing sound of Mr. Clippers’ shears, snipping and snapping at errant strands of grass. The vast network of branches above Lily’s head sighed, and a great shifting sea of bright amber leaves waved at her . . . mockingly, she thought.
Lily slammed the book shut, tucked it under her arm, and slowly turned to face her brother, who was inspecting leaves on the same tree. “You wanna go in the house?”
“Of course I want to go into the house. But Dad told us to wait.” Jasper glanced at his sister. “You heard him. He’s in a mood.” Jasper opened his own book and held it close to his face. None of the pictures matched the leaf in his hand. They never matched.
“What kind of tree,” complained Lily, “has a broad amber leaf, never changes color, and never sheds a leaf all year?”
“Ebb’s amazing mysterious never-evergreen?” said Jasper. They’d been over this before.
“Maybe it’s a mutant,” said Lily. “Like a unicorn.”
“It wouldn’t be like Ebb to give us a problem that couldn’t be solved.”
“Agreed,” Lily sighed. “But . . . but did he really give us this task?”
“Of course he . . .” Jasper stared off into the branches above. “I mean . . . he gave us that feltleaf willow. And . . . that Tasmanian mountain ash . . . a couple years ago. And that juniper thingy out back beside the . . . pool . . .” Jasper turned to Lily, shock dawning on his face.
Lily crossed her arms and nodded. “We did this to ourselves,” she confirmed.
“No!” said Jasper.
Jasper shot a glance at the many-windowed, sun-drenched brick of his uncle’s mansion. The house, its gardens, and the lone tree in front, stood on a curious hill known as “The Egg.” A large, geographical oddity, the hill was shaped exactly like an egg with one notable exception: after a steep twenty-foot rise, it was tabletop flat.
“Why’s Mom so worried?” asked Lily.
“I wish I knew, Lil.” Jasper sighed.
“I mean, it’s not like Ebb hasn’t been on long trips before.”
Jasper got down on his hands and knees and combed the grass with his fingers, looking for anything that might have dropped from the tree. “No cones, no flowers, no catkins, not so much as a grain of pollen! How does this tree ever bear fruit?”
“She’s freaking out. Why is she freaking out?”
Jasper thought for a moment. “He vanished.”
“He’s vanished before,” said Lily.
“Never for this long.”
“He’s a grown man,” countered Lily.
Jasper raised his eyebrows. “Time of year? We move a ton of trees and shrubs in the spring. She wants him at Treling.”
Lily tilted her head, rolling this idea around. “I like it. He’s needed here, he hasn’t checked in, and she hasn’t been able to reach him.”
Jasper gazed past the tree’s enormous trunk to the narrow end of the egg, across the long, oval-shaped swath of green, to wh
ere the trail vanished over the edge. “Mom and Dad should be here by now.”
“Maybe Mom stopped to take cuttings,” suggested Lily. “It’s a beautiful day. Hey, I know.” She made an effort to sound casual. “Let’s go up to the porch and wait for them there.”
Jasper laughed. “You’re not getting inside. I know what you want to do.”
“You do not,” said Lily quickly, but she suspected he did.
Jasper continued to stare across the egg.
“Don’t waste your time looking for them,” Lily advised. “Dad’ll let Bruford off the leash when they’re close. The instant he sees us he’ll start barking his fool head off.”
“If he doesn’t have it out with Mr. Clippers first. What is it with those two?”
As if on cue, a dog barked. Jasper took several quick steps away from the tree’s trunk. Lily turned silently toward the mansion and set off at a full run.
Bruford, black and shaggy, bounded over the edge of the egg and onto the perfectly manicured grass. He ran straight for them and then veered off, making a beeline for Mr. Clippers. Barking madly, the dog began moving in a strange loping hop. Mr. Clippers, who was the size of a push lawn mower and just as low to the ground, raised his two long metallic arms and began snipping his shears like castanets. Using his eight shiny legs, he pivoted in time with Bruford’s every lunge, waving his shears to protect his gleaming black solar-paneled carapace.
“Yep, just as I suspected. The lure of Mr. Clippers was just too—” Jasper, turning, discovered Lily was gone. “Lily?” he said, his voice rising, and he took off after her.
She was sprinting toward the center section of the mansion, which rose four stories tall and was flanked on either side by a long two-story wing. Dark green ivy clung to the lower brickwork. Near the second floor, the first patches of red brick appeared, and by the third floor, the ivy was only tendrils, lacing upwards like green lightning. Lily streaked toward the double doors.