Timothy was taken aback. He had been expecting some test of skill or intelligence, not a boiled-down version of the Ten Commandments. There was no way he could answer all of those questions honestly and still hope to win the Children of Rhys’s approval-but if he lied to them, would they know?
“I honor my foster mothers and my Queen,” said Linden. Her voice shook a little, but her expression was resolute. “Though I have not always obeyed them perfectly. I have kept my bargains with my neighbors and not deceived them. I have harmed no one, and I come to you not for my own sake, but for the sake of my people.”
There was a pause, and then the voice said, “You may come.”
Linden relaxed, and broke into a smile. She stepped into the little boat and sat down.
“Speak, human,” said the voice.
Timothy licked his dry lips, not knowing what to say. He remembered the stunned look on Luke Barfield’s round face when he realized that Timothy had just hit him. He thought of how he’d lied to the dean by writing that fake email to his parents, not wanting to admit to what he’d really done, or why. He’d yelled at Peri when she was just trying to protect the Oakenfolk, tried to bully Linden into using glamour against her conscience, resented the Jenkinses’ hospitality even as he’d stuffed his face with their food and slept in the bed they’d made up for him….
He said roughly to Linden, “You go on. I’ll wait here.”
“The tide is rising,” said the disembodied voice. “You cannot remain in this place. If you will not answer our questions, then you must return the way you came, and there meet whatever fate awaits you.”
Meaning the Blackwing brothers. Timothy swallowed and said, “I can’t pass your test. I’ve lied-and dishonored my parents-and hit people who didn’t deserve it. So I guess…” He looked back at the cliffside trail, and sickness burned the back of his throat. “I’ll have to leave.”
Fifteen
“Wait!” Linden scrambled out of the boat and ran to Timothy, catching his arm before he could turn away. She spoke urgently to the air: “He’s told you the truth, about the things he’s done. But he’s also been loyal and kind and brave. And now he’s willing to go back up there all alone and surrender himself to our enemies for my sake-doesn’t that count for something, too?”
There was a lengthy pause, filled only by the murmur of the wind and waves. Linden tightened her grip on Timothy, afraid that she had offended the Children and that now they would both be turned away. But at last the voice spoke again:
“Human, by your own admission you have violated the laws of our forefather Rhys. But for the sake of your faery companion, we will let you pass-if you repent of your wrongdoing, and pledge to be honest and true hereafter. Do you so promise?”
Timothy looked stunned, and for several long seconds he didn’t speak. But at last he said hoarsely, “I’ll try.”
“Then you may come.”
Hesitantly Timothy followed Linden to the boat and climbed in. It slipped back into the water as though pushed by some invisible hand, and soon they were bobbing across the waves toward the pillared gate.
Linden had never been in a boat before, and the sensation delighted her. The ocean breeze fluttered her hair, and cold spray washed her face as she leaned forward, gaze fixed eagerly on the island ahead. The boat crested a wave, rocked downward as it passed between the two stones-and then in a flash they came aground again, white sand furrowing up on both sides of the boat as it glided onto an unfamiliar shore.
“In the name of Rhys Ddwfn I greet you,” said a voice that sounded familiar, but now unmistakably male. “I am Garan ap Gwylan.”
Linden clasped her head, still dizzy with the sudden shift from the cove to the island. Then her vision cleared and she saw him: a male faery considerably bigger than her fellow Oakenfolk but barely half as tall as Timothy-about the height of a human child. His hair was the color of peeled willow, held back from his forehead by a circlet of twisted gold and falling loose and straight to his shoulders. But there was nothing childlike or feminine about the clean, proud bones of his face, or the muscles of his bare arms as he stretched out his hand to help Linden from her seat.
“Come with me,” he said. “I will take you to meet the Elders of my people.”
Ever since the Children of Rhys had given their verdict, Timothy had been silent, his eyes downcast, but now he flicked a half smile at Linden and nodded for her to go ahead. She took Garan’s hand and climbed out; Timothy followed, and the three of them set off down the beach together.
“Was it you who spoke to us, back there?” she asked Garan. It felt somehow rude to be addressing the top of his head, so she shrank back to Oakenfolk size and flew alongside him.
“I spoke with my people’s voice and not my own,” he said, “but yes, it was my turn as Speaker. I have waited many years for this day.” He gave her a sidelong glance with his sea-colored eyes. “May I ask what you are called, so that I may introduce you to the Elders?”
“I’m Linden,” she said. She waited for Timothy to speak, but he didn’t, so she went on, “And my human friend is Timothy.”
“It is an honor to meet you,” said Garan, making them both a short bow with his hand to his heart. “Never in my lifetime have strangers come to our island. What news do you bring to us from the outside world?”
His gaze held a keen, almost hungry interest, and Linden felt suddenly self-conscious. “It’s a long story,” she said. “Perhaps we should save it for the Elders.”
“As you wish it,” Garan said, but he looked disappointed. “Tell me,” he added after a pause, “do you find that small form comfortable? It gives me no offense if you prefer human shape; I am told that many of our people on the mainland do. I choose it myself, from time to time,” and in a blink he made himself as tall as Timothy, striding a few long paces across the sand before dropping back to his former height.
“Actually, this is my natural size,” said Linden, a little defensively. Did no other faeries look like the Oakenfolk anymore? Veronica had appeared startled and even disgusted that she would make herself so small, and now Garan seemed to think it strange, too….
Garan laughed. “How can that be? You are a faery, with magic in your blood: One size is no more natural to you than another. Perhaps you have become accustomed to being small, but with a little practice you could make yourself the height I am now, or half that, or twice as tall again, as easily as winking.”
Linden was startled. She had always known that before the Sundering the Oakenfolk used to make themselves human size at will, so it had seemed obvious to follow their example. But she had never even thought to try any of the sizes in between….
Well, there was one way to know for sure. She dropped to the ground, shut her eyes in concentration-and opened them again to find Garan looking at her. Straight at her, because she’d made herself exactly his height. Linden let out a laugh; it was the oddest feeling, being large and not large at the same time. But it hadn’t been difficult at all.
“You see?” said Garan, smiling. They had reached the edge of the beach now; he took her hand and helped her climb up a low staircase of rocks, then stepped out in front to lead the way.
On shore the wind had blown cold beneath a gray sky dappled with clouds: But here the sky was as blue as chicory, and the sun that beat down on them was warm. It might have been May or June, instead of February. They had only walked a few paces into the long, herb-seasoned grass when Linden paused to shrug off her coat and fold it away into her pack. Timothy hesitated, then did likewise-but he moved stiffly, and as he peeled the jacket away Linden saw the dark stain that had spread along his side. “You’re bleeding!” she said, alarmed.
“Bleeding?” asked Garan. “You are injured, then? May I look?”
It was the first time he had addressed Timothy directly, but the concern in his voice sounded genuine. Timothy gave an uncomfortable shrug. “It’s not that bad,” he said. “But sure, if you want.”
“He wa
s hurt trying to protect me,” Linden said quickly as Garan moved past her, afraid that the other faery would see the obvious knife wound and come to the wrong conclusion. “We were attacked on the way, and he fought to keep us both from being captured. That’s what I meant when I said he was brave.”
Garan lifted Timothy’s shirt and examined the ugly, weeping slash across his side. At last he laid his palm against it, ignoring Timothy’s flinch, and when he took his hand away there was nothing beneath but a crust of dried blood and a pink line of newly healed skin.
“You will need your strength when you stand before the Elders,” he said. “And I am always glad for a chance to use my healing gifts-in this place, the need for such skill is rare.”
An exciting thought sparked in Linden’s mind. “Can you heal any kind of injury?” she asked eagerly. “If you met a human who couldn’t use his legs, for instance…”
“If the injury was new and not too grave, I might be able to heal him,” said Garan. “But if several months have passed, or if the injured part were badly crushed or severed, I would not even dare to attempt it. There is only so much that even magic can do.”
Linden’s hope faded to disappointment. For a moment she had dared to imagine how happy Paul would be if he could walk again. But if Garan was right, then it was far too late to help him.
Timothy was still staring at his newly healed side. He poked the scar and let out a short laugh, then turned to Garan and said “Th-I mean, that’s fantastic! I appreciate it.” He straightened his shoulders, looking more confident and happy than she had seen him in days. “So what you said before, about not getting to heal people very often-I take it you don’t see much fighting here?”
“No, indeed,” said Garan. “We left all that behind a thousand years ago, when my ancestors first came to these islands. For years they had served their tribal chieftains faithfully, even surrendering their true names to them as proof of their devotion. But in time their lords grew greedy and ambitious for power, forcing their people into battle for no just cause. So when Rhys came to them from beyond the Sea with the Stone of Naming in his hand, my ancestors gladly gave up the names that enslaved them and took new ones, so that they might choose for themselves whom they would serve. And then they left their old homes and settled upon these islands, pledging themselves to a new life of harmony and peace.”
The Stone of Naming, thought Linden in wonder. Rob had been right-it was the very thing he and his fellow would-be rebels needed to fight against the Empress. But if the Stone was so important to the Children of Rhys’s history, would they be willing to give it up?
“How many of your people are there?” she asked Garan.
“We do not keep count of our numbers,” he replied. “For though our people marry in their youth and live long lives, they seldom have more than one or two children, and Rhys promised my forefathers that as long as we honored his laws, there would be enough room on these islands for us all.” His mouth bent wryly. “And so it has proved, though there are times I could wish for fewer voices in council.”
“How about this, then,” said Timothy. “How many of these islands do you have?” He had stopped again and was peering out across the sea, his eyes shielded with his hand. “Because I’m counting at least four…no, five…. It’s a wonder you aren’t knee-deep in shipwrecks by now.”
“There are twelve in all,” Garan said. “The Gwerdonnau Llion, what you would call the Green Isles of the Ocean. But no sailor sets foot here except by our leave. Here, we exist in a realm apart from human time, and unwary vessels sail right through us.”
“But you buy your goods on shore,” Timothy pointed out, “or at least you used to. So you must visit the human world now and then.”
“You are well informed about our people, for a human,” said Garan, his brows rising. “Has the tale of Gruffydd truly survived among you for so long? So many years have passed since strangers came to our lands-if not for you, I could believe the whole world had forgotten the Children of Rhys.
“Yes, we do trade often with the humans upon the shore,” he continued, “but only in disguise, and we do not linger there longer than need demands. And since our traders are chosen by lot, I have yet to visit your shores myself.” His eyes grew wistful. “Perhaps I shall have that chance, one day. But we dally too much, and we should not keep the Elders waiting.”
He turned and led them onward through the grass, until at last they reached the edge of the wood that Linden had seen from shore. Two trees stood a little in front of the rest, their slender trunks perfectly symmetrical and their intertwined branches forming an arch overhead.
“Enter into our court, and be welcome,” said Garan, gesturing for them to go ahead of him. But when Linden looked between the trees she could see only darkness, and it made her uneasy.
“You go first,” she said. “Please.”
“It is not my place,” protested Garan. “The Elders will think I dishonor you.”
“I’ll go,” said Timothy, and stepped forward. The shadows swallowed him up at once, and Linden held her breath; but then she heard his voice echoing back from the other side, “It’s all right. Come on.”
Linden made herself human size again, for courage. Then she steeled herself and plunged into the dark.
She emerged with a stumble into a great oval chamber, airy and brightly lit. Behind her stood an archway identical to the one through which she had just passed-but on this side, the trees and their interwoven branches were carved from white marble. And before her, on twelve tall chairs of the same gleaming silver-veined stone, sat the Elders of the Children of Rhys.
They were small in stature, like Garan, and like him wore their hair long. But the men were bearded, the women’s plaits coiled like crowns about their heads, and the solemn dignity in their faces made Linden feel very foolish and young. Who was she, or Timothy, to come before a great council like this?
“Lord and Lady Elders of the Plant Rhys Ddwfn,” said Garan, stepping up beside them. “I bring before you the faery Linden and the human Timothy.” With a bow he walked off to the left of the chamber and sat down, and only then did Linden realize that the room was full of faeries, hundreds of them, seated in curving tiers that lined the chamber on both sides.
“You have come a great distance to speak with us on behalf of your people, or so you said,” spoke up the first of the Elders, a woman with chestnut skin and a penetrating gaze. “Tell us, what kind of help do you seek?”
Linden took a deep breath and put her hands behind her back, so that the Elders would not see them tremble. Then she spoke up in her clearest voice:
“We need magic, if you are able to give it. Because my people have lost theirs, and now a powerful Empress wants to conquer us, and unless you help us, we will surely die.”
Linden did a good job of telling their story, Timothy had to admit-but then, she’d had plenty of practice. She told the Children of Rhys all about the Oakenfolk, and how Jasmine had used up all their magic on her mad scheme to “free” them from humans. Then she went on to relate all that had happened when she and Timothy went to London in search of more faeries, and what they had learned from Veronica and Rob about the Empress. Finally, she explained about the Blackwings coming after them, and how she and Timothy had been forced to flee the Oakenwyld and stake all their hopes on finding the Children of Rhys. But to Timothy’s surprise, there was one crucial thing Linden didn’t mention: the Stone of Naming, and the bargain she had made with Rob to find it and bring it back.
“This Empress,” said a broad-chested Elder with reddish hair and beard, “who is she, and whence has she come? This is the first we have heard of her.”
“I don’t know,” Linden told him. “I just know that she’s powerful and cruel, and that all the other faeries are afraid to do anything against her, because she knows their true names. So they have to obey her, whether they want to or not.”
It was then that Timothy realized what Linden was trying to do: She ho
ped the Elders would see the obvious parallel to their own history, and offer to give her the Stone of Naming without making her ask for it. But though the Elders all looked grave, none took the bait.
“And this Empress refuses to let her subjects associate with humans?” said the dark-haired woman who had addressed them before. “How does she expect the faeries under her rule to thrive? Where do they obtain their meat and milk and grain, their cloth and pottery, their books and musical instruments? Without human trade we would have none of these things, nor the skills to make use of them, and our realm would be impoverished.”
Silence. Timothy glanced at Linden, but she still looked crestfallen at how the Elders had ignored the obvious oppor-tunity to tell her about the Stone. Well, just because she hadn’t succeeded didn’t mean he couldn’t have a try himself.
“They steal them from us,” he spoke up, and was rewarded with shocked murmurs from every side of the room. “They pretend to be human, and lure us into trusting them, and then they take our creativity by force. But how are they supposed to know any better? Their Empress is the worst deceiver of all-she tricked all of the faeries into giving her their blood, and then she used that blood to find out their true names.”
The whispers turned into gasps, and many of the faeries sat up in their seats, looking appalled. “This is evil news indeed,” said a lean, blond Elder who bore a strong resemblance to Garan. “To hear that our fellow faeries have been enslaved against their will cannot help but grieve us all.” He turned his gaze on Linden. “Yet if this Empress is so powerful and ruthless, what makes you think you can resist her? Her servants are many, and you Oakenfolk are few. It would be ill done if we restored your people’s magic only to have the Empress conquer and enslave them, and turn those powers to evil in her service.”
“But the Oakenfolk aren’t alone,” Timothy said quickly. “They have allies-humans like myself, and my cousin and his wife. Not to mention a lot of faeries in the Empress’s service who would be glad to fight back against her if they could.”
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