by E. D. Baker
“Can I get you something to eat or drink?” he asked. “We’re usually so busy that we don’t have formal meals and just eat when we’re hungry.”
“It has been a while since I ate last,” she admitted.
“Then follow me!” he said, and gestured toward a path with a flourish.
She walked with Dasras through the trees to where a spider-silk cloth covered a large, flat rock. Nymphs with long green hair stood on the other side of the rock, pouring a clear pink liquid into cups made from tulip blossoms. As Tamisin and Dasras joined the line of bigger fairies, she accepted a cup from a nymph. “Thank you,” Tamisin told her.
Dasras glanced at her in surprise. Tamisin noticed that he didn’t say anything when he took the cup from the nymph, nor did any of the other fairies standing in line. Apparently thanking people wasn’t normally done at Oberon’s court.
A human-looking woman with long, straight brown hair that hung down on either side of her plump-cheeked face was setting a platter of fresh fruit on the rock when she grinned at Tamisin and said, “Be careful. That berry wine will go straight to your head if you’re not used to it.”
The blue boy frowned at her, saying, “She’ll be fine, Irinia.”
Ducking her head, the woman turned away. Dasras was helping himself to small brown wafers when Tamisin glanced at Irinia. To her surprise, the woman had an identical face on the back of her head. After scowling at the boy, Irinia glanced at Tamisin and winked even as her other face began to talk to one of the nymphs.
Tamisin looked away when Dasras nudged her and said, “Let’s go. I know a spot where we can eat in peace.”
If this is all fairies eat, no wonder they’re so slender, she thought, choosing a ripe plum and a shiny red apple from the platter before following Dasras.
A small flock of goldfinches followed them from tree to tree as they made their way through the forest. Tamisin was listening to their song when she noticed a dull, rhythmic roar that she couldn’t quite place. When she and the blue boy entered a clearing at the edge of a rocky outcrop, the sun was low enough in the sky that its light cast long shadows behind them.
“We’ll sit up here,” Dasras said, and hopped onto the rocks. He was so agile that he reached the top long before Tamisin, who climbed slowly so she wouldn’t spill her berry wine. She was working her way from one boulder to another when she realized that the roar was growing louder. Curious, she continued on until she could see over the top of the rocks and stood, stunned, looking out over the vast ocean that lay before her.
Tamisin had never visited an ocean before, and had never smelled the salt air or felt the moist breeze on her face or tasted salt on her lips. She had never seen gulls swooping over the water, skimming the surface as they caught their dinner, or porpoises leaping just beyond the breaking waves.
“Come sit by me,” said Dasras, patting the sun-warmed rock beside him.
She climbed across, eager to sit down and drink in the glorious view. The spot Dasras had chosen was at the highest point of an uneven jumble of boulders that fell away to embrace a small cove and the white-sand beach that shaped it. When she looked up, Tamisin could see the sun setting behind the horizon and the endless cycle of waves.
A sense of being at peace came over her, and she realized that for the first time in months, the nagging, almost painful prickling of the thwarted compulsion was gone. She was in the land of the fey; the compulsion was satisfied.
“They say that King Neptune tossed these rocks here to protect his daughters when they came to play on the beach,” said Dasras. “I come here often to watch the waves and think. Most fairies don’t like the ocean, though. They say the salt water hurts their wings, but I think they just don’t like the mermaids.”
“Can we go down to the beach?” Tamisin asked, suddenly excited to be there.
Dasras laughed. “I wouldn’t advise it. That beach belongs to the mermaids, and the rumors about them are true; they aren’t always friendly to strangers.”
Tamisin took a sip of her wine and coughed. It was stronger than she’d expected but had a nice fruity taste. “I thought mermaids were usually friendly,” she said, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“None that I’ve ever met,” Dasras said, making a sour face. “So, tell me about yourself. What was your life like before you came here to live?”
“I’m not staying, you know,” said Tamisin. “I need to go home. No one knows where I’ve gone, and they’re bound to be worried about me. Jak’s the only one who’d be able to find out and—”
“Don’t tell me about them! I want to know everything there is to know about you.” He gazed at her so attentively that she couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable.
“There isn’t much to tell,” Tamisin replied. “I learned that Titania was my mother just last year. My friend Jak helped me find her.” Juice dribbled down her chin when she took a bite of the plum and the sweet taste exploded on her tongue.
“Jak again!” Dasras said, sounding exasperated. “You might as well tell me about this Jak. He seems to be important to you.”
Tamisin nodded as she swallowed. “He was my best friend, although I guess you could say he was more than that.” Or at least he was until I turned my back on him, she added silently. When she thought about it like that, she couldn’t understand why she’d done it. “I miss him,” she said, and sighed.
Dasras gave her a sharp look, then smiled brightly and reached down to pat her hand. “Don’t worry. You’ll like living here. And I’m sure you’ll make plenty of friends.”
“I’m not going to live here!” Tamisin cried. “As soon as the sun comes up, I’m going home. Oberon had no right to have Mountain Ash shrink me and stuff me into a bag!”
Dasras’s smile faded. “Oberon had him shrink you because it was the safest way to bring you here. And he has every right to see you. He is your father, after all, and Titania should never have lied about you. But then, that’s what she does—says one thing when it suits her, then changes her story when the first lie becomes inconvenient.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Tamisin.
Dasras shrugged and his expression grew grim. “My mother was one of Titania’s handmaidens. She died shortly after giving birth to me, but before she died, she asked Titania to raise me as her own. I was only a year old when Oberon found out about me. He wanted me to live at his court, but Titania refused to give me up. They argued for years over who should keep me, and then one day Titania decided that she wanted to make up with him, even if it meant sacrificing me. They’ve lived apart for as long as I’ve known them, but I don’t think they ever stopped loving each other.”
Tamisin drained the last of the wine from her tulip cup, then said, “And she gave you to him, just like that?”
“She had always told me that I wouldn’t be happy living with Oberon, but when it suited her, she changed her story and said that I’d probably enjoy it. She sent me here the very next day, and I’ve never heard from her since.”
“I’m sorry,” Tamisin told him. “I have to ask, though. Are you happy here?”
Dasras hesitated as if he’d never really thought about it. “Yes, I suppose I am.”
“Then maybe something had changed,” said Tamisin. “Or you were old enough that she thought you would be all right here. She told me that she sent me away when I was a baby partly because she didn’t want to continue fighting with Oberon. I really do believe she sent us away for the sake of the kingdom, not because she didn’t want us. I think she probably loved us both in her own way.”
Dasras snorted. “Maybe, but she loves the kingdom more.”
A bone-jarring shriek split the air as a dark shadow rippled across the water. Tamisin looked up, but all she could see was a shape blocking part of the setting sun.
“We’d better go,” said Dasras, getting to his feet. “The griffins are hunting their dinner early tonight. I’ll show you to your bed if you’d like. It’s going to be dark s
oon anyway.”
“Do griffins hunt fairies?” Tamisin asked, and glanced down at the apple core and plum pit. She didn’t remember finishing them off.
Dasras frowned at the remains of the fruit she held in her hand. “You must be hungry after your ordeal. Most fairies don’t eat much. And to answer your question, no, they don’t usually hunt fairies, but then, fairies don’t usually give them the chance.”
After Dasras pointed out the place where Tamisin was to sleep, he showed her to a nearby waterfall where she could bathe and then left. When she emerged from the waterfall, a fairy dressed in cobwebs gave her a pale green shift made of woven willow leaves and took away the nightgown Tamisin had been wearing since leaving home.
Tamisin was yawning when she got to her bed and was dismayed to see that it was made of twigs and dangled like a hammock from the branches of an oak tree. She was sure she’d never be able to get any rest, but when she lay down, the moss mattress was so comfortable and the downy cover so soft that she was soon drifting off. A short time later, a light breeze blew in from the ocean, rocking the bed from side to side, lulling her into a deeper sleep.
Chapter 4
Fairy directions aren’t like the kind humans give to each other. Most fairies can’t read, so street signs don’t mean anything to them.
“Go to the big black path, then go straight until you smell marigolds,” Pansy had told Jak. “Turn left at the picture of the black-and-white cow. Go straight until you reach a meadow that a giant could cross in ten strides. Cross the path and go inside the big white cottage. Look for the gargoyle. He’ll show you the way to the gate.”
With his backpack crammed full of clothes, food, and things he thought might be useful, such as matches and a candle, Jak slipped out the back door. The big black path—fairy-speak for a human road—was only three blocks from his house, so he reached it in a few minutes. Because it was still early, only a few cars passed him, but by the time he reached the downtown area where buildings were closer together, cars were bumper to bumper as people headed to work.
Jak finally smelled the marigolds when he was in front of city hall. He continued down the street until he spotted a fast-food restaurant where a large picture of a cow wearing a sign was displayed on a window. Turning left, he crossed the street and went straight. When he reached a park, he decided that a giant could indeed cross it in ten strides, so he turned again and spotted the big white building that housed the Museum of Fine Art.
A sign in front of the museum said the doors wouldn’t open for another hour. Jak sat on the steps and ate a granola bar while he thought about what he would do next. If all went well, the gate would be open and he would soon be in the land of the fey—ideally nowhere near the cat-goblin lands. If the gate had already closed, he’d have to hunt until he found one that was open. There was no telling how long that would take, and the fairies had warned him that he didn’t have much time. It would be great if he could take a gate that opened near Oberon, but all the gates around the city opened to places within walking distance of Titania’s forest. Gates that led to any other part of the land of the fey would be in another part of the human world, and Jak had no idea where to find them.
When the museum finally opened and a surge of humans headed up the steps, Jak entered the big hall and started searching for a gargoyle. He didn’t see any. He did see a fairy couple, although no one else seemed to notice them. A group of people pushed through the revolving doors behind him, jostling Jak as they hurried toward a woman seated at a desk. When he heard them asking the price of admission, he realized that he had to pay to get in. Too bad he hadn’t brought any money with him. Where was that gargoyle, anyway?
Jak turned around, ready to ask the fairies where he might find the gargoyle, but the couple had disappeared. Thinking that the creature might be hiding in the museum, he didn’t want to ask a human, so he searched the growing crowd, hoping to find another fairy. When his glance fell on a kiosk holding pamphlets, he was surprised to see a gargoyle on the cover. He plucked a pamphlet from the rack, tore off a corner, and held the scrap of paper in his hand while he thought about a ten-dollar bill. Jak was so good at transmogrifying one thing into another that he no longer had to give it much thought. With the money clutched in his hand, he approached the desk and paid the fee, receiving a sticker in return.
“Where would I find this gargoyle?” he asked the woman at the counter, showing her the picture.
“The statue garden,” she said, and turned away.
Hurrying to join the line of people waiting to show a guard their stickers, Jak saw a sign only a little farther on. STATUE GARDEN read the sign with a small picture of the gargoyle just above an arrow pointing down another corridor. Jak strode past an elderly couple and turned the corner, almost running into a group of nymphs dressed in leaves and grass. They giggled and looked him up and down. Jak was about to speak to them, but they skipped into the corridor and danced around the elderly couple, who didn’t seem to see them.
Jak scowled. Full-blooded fey could make themselves invisible in the human world when there was enough magic around—which there was when a gate was open. He wouldn’t have needed to buy a sticker if he could perform that handy little trick, but there were a lot of things that halflings couldn’t do.
The statue garden was a large space open to the sky with two ancient oaks dominating the center. Jak was relieved to see that light shimmered between the trees; the gate was open. Directly in front of the trees, the marble figure of a young woman holding an urn stood in a shallow, water-filled pool. Statues of humans in various poses stood around the trees, and a stone gargoyle crouched behind them as if standing guard. Human-sized fairies sat at the feet of the statues or lounged on the edge of the bowl. From the way they kept glancing at the trees, Jak thought they were probably waiting for someone.
A goblin girl with a beak nose was helping an older bird-goblin woman totter toward the exit while three jackal-goblin boys tried to get the girl to talk to them. Jak had known a few jackal goblins at school, all of whom had been nasty friends of his cousin Nihlo. He had avoided them, just as he wanted to avoid these, so he stepped behind a statue and waited for the room to clear.
The light between the trees grew brighter, and a single human-sized fairy appeared. When he stepped into the garden, the group of fairies greeted him, and then gathered up their possessions and started for the door. Jak stepped out of their way, but they still gave him scornful looks and were careful to keep their distance.
“Look, Tansy,” said the old bird-goblin woman. “It’s a cat goblin. I haven’t seen one of those in years. You’d better hurry, young goblin. The light in the gate is getting all waverylike. It’s going to close any minute.”
“A cat goblin, huh?” said one of the jackal goblins. “And I thought it was just another human. What are you doing here, cat?”
Jak tried to avoid the goblins as he started toward the gate, but they loped across the garden to stand directly in front of him and waited, leering. Out of the corner of his eye, Jak noticed that the bird goblins were using the distraction to shuffle around the corner and out of sight.
“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” asked the biggest of the jackal goblins. Like his companions, he had a stocky build and a blunt-nosed face with eyes set too close together. His eyes seemed to merge into one when he shoved his face close to Jak’s and snarled. Jak jerked his head back as the goblin’s decaying-meat-tainted breath wafted over him. His revulsion must have shown on his face, because the goblin’s eyes narrowed as he set his hand on the center of Jak’s chest and shoved.
Jak staggered back, then ducked as one of the other jackal goblins took a swing at him. Another step back and he turned and darted behind the statue of a man holding a sword. When the goblins came after him, he wove between the statues at a near run, trying to get closer to the gate. There was a muffled curse, and one of the goblins snapped the head off a spotlight aimed at the fountain, hurling it at Jak. The
spotlight missed him, but it hit the statue of a child and bounced off to skitter across the polished floor.
Water began to spout from the marble woman’s urn, creating a mist that hid the shimmering light of the gate. A moment later, a human family of four entered the garden. “What is going on in here?” demanded the man. The family looked in horror at the broken piece of metal and glass that lay on the ground at their feet. “Did you just throw that, young man?” the father asked Jak.
“No,” he said, then remembered that the humans probably couldn’t see the jackal goblins. He glanced behind him and saw the look of glee on the goblins’ faces as they realized that the humans could see Jak.
“So you’re telling me that it got there all by itself?” said the man.
“Avery, let’s go,” his wife told him as their little girl began to cry.
Jak was trying to come up with something plausible to tell the man when a goblin shoved him from behind. Surprised, Jak went sprawling, but he hopped to his feet in a flash and dodged out of the way as the jackal goblins tried to jump on him.
“What is wrong with you?” the man asked as Jak dodged here and darted there.
Jak was too busy trying to avoid the goblins to worry about what the man was thinking. He dashed around the fountain and glanced at the trees, but there was so much mist in the air that he couldn’t see if there were shimmering lights or not. Suddenly one of the goblins slammed into him and Jak went flying. He hit the statue of the child with a thump, rocking it on its base.
“I’m going to get the guards!” the man declared, and left with his family. They had scarcely left the garden when the goblins descended on Jak again.
“Leave him alone,” a deep voice rumbled.
The jackal goblins stopped to look around, then turned back to Jak. “Was that you, cat? You’re trying to tell us what to do?”