Bindings (3 page)

“No buts about it,” his dad said, getting up. “You get dressed and get out there and have some fun. Skate or play ball or something.”

“All right. I'll go outside and frolic, then,” Tim said. “I'll get dressed on my own, though. If you don't mind. I can do that, you know. I can tie my own shoelaces and everything.”

“Tim.” Mr. Hunter sighed and left the room. Tim changed into a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. He threw a sweatshirt over his head, grabbed his jacket, and left the house.

“Why don't you go outside and play?” he muttered, repeating his father's inane recommendation. As if a round of catch was going to solve his problems.

Does he think I'm a little kid? When a bit of fresh
air might have been all that was needed to change my point of view?

Tim kicked an empty soda can into the gutter.
He calls
me
a recluse? Look who's talking! I suppose when one sits in front of the telly all day, one has time to notice these things
.
Besides,
Tim thought, bending down and grabbing a broken tree branch,
Dad should be pleased about my solitary existence
. Tim dragged the branch along the broken-down mesh fence surrounding an empty lot.
Chip off the old block and all that.

He tossed the stick aside.
Maybe I
should
go talk to Molly. Feel her out
. It was possible that if Tim explained it all very carefully Molly wouldn't think he was a complete and utter loon. He knew he'd feel better if he had someone he could tell.
Molly's the best of the best when it comes to keeping secrets.
Still…

He had arrived at the edge of the park and still couldn't decide.

“Man-child,” Tim heard behind him. He turned to see a stocky man wearing a long dark overcoat and a hat with a wide brim pulled low over his face. He had a broad, sagging face with eyes that seemed too far apart. The man grinned, and Tim saw he was missing several teeth. Tim immediately had a “Trenchcoat Brigade” flashback and wondered if the whole thing was starting over again. Then the
strange man pointed to the sky. “Look up.”

Curious, Tim looked up. A large bird circled above him—like the one he had seen at school. Then it quickly fluttered away, vanishing behind a building. “Yo-yo?” Tim murmured.

Someone standing behind him said, “No, not Yo-yo.”

Tim jerked sharply to one side and took off running. He suddenly knew for certain that the person behind him was going to try to grab him and that the thick man in front of him must have been the diversion.
No way!

Tim twisted and swerved and ran into the park. He quickly arrived at a thickly wooded section, leaping over heavy roots and ducking under bare branches. There were dead leaves on the ground, and Tim could hear the crunching of his pursuers' feet behind him.

He put on speed. In fact, he pumped his feet so fast he never saw the net that was stretched between two bushes before it had snagged him.

“Oof!” he cried out as he tripped and stumbled, caught in his midsection by the net. He saw that two burly men in identical hats and overcoats were gripping the edges of the strong net. When he was just inches from landing facedown on the ground, a powerful hand jerked Tim's head back by his hair and held him upright. Tim gulped. He
felt the cold blade of a knife at his throat.

“Keep your voice to a whisper if you know what's good for you,” a deep voice said.

No problem
, Tim thought. He was too afraid to speak.

The men holding the net seemed surprised to see the man who was holding his knife to Tim. “What are you doing here?” one of them asked.

What's going on? Aren't these goons working together?
Tim tried hard not to move. Any wriggle made the man's grip on his hair tighter, and he really didn't want that knife blade to press any harder against his skin.

“Are you here to help?” the other man holding the net asked. He seemed peeved. “Did she think we couldn't do this on our own?”

The man gripping Tim ignored the other two men. He concentrated on Tim. “I will release you if you give me your word that you will not run away.”

“All right,” Tim choked out. “I promise.”

“Swear by your name,” the man demanded.

Now that's another thing entirely
, Tim thought.
I'm not giving up my name to this bloke. I learn from my mistakes
. “No,” Tim replied. He cringed a little, waiting for the man's reaction.

A begrudging smile crossed the man's lean face. “Very well. You know the value of names, I see.”

The man lowered the knife but kept a powerful grip on Tim's shoulder. Unrelenting, he quickly bound Tim's wrists together with thin leather straps. Then he lowered a hood over Tim's head. Tim felt the man hoist him up onto his shoulders as if he were no more than an overloaded knapsack.

“Hey!” Tim protested, but the sound was muffled by the hood.

“You two go home,” Tim heard his kidnapper tell the others.

“She will be furious if we return without him,” one of the men protested.

“She's not here. I am,” the man said. “And now I'm not!”

With that statement, the world seemed to vanish. Tim felt a rush of air as his abductor transported them away to somewhere.

Tim had felt this rush before—on his journey through time and space. It could only mean one thing; his abductor was magic!

T
IM FELT A POUNDING HEAT.
The hood he wore grew stifling, and his shirt clung to his sweating skin. He felt none of the woozy nausea he had experienced the first time he'd been magicked across planes of reality.

I suppose I'm getting used to it
, Tim thought,
becoming an old hand at this magical travel. Maybe I should look into becoming an astral guide—cruise director for magical journeys.

He felt himself being lowered to the ground.

“Hold still,” Tim was ordered.

Tim obeyed—what else could he do? The hood covering his head was removed roughly.

“Oy!” Tim cried. The hood had dragged his glasses off his face, scraping his skin. He blinked against the punishing sun, then scanned the rocky ground for his specs. He hated feeling as helpless as he did without them.

A large, gloved hand appeared under Tim's nose. It held his glasses. Tim squinted up at his abductor.

Tim wasn't sure whether or not the man was offering the glasses to him.

“What's wrong with your eyes?” the man asked.

“What's it to you?” Tim snapped.

The man moved his hand out of reach. Clearly he wasn't going to give Tim his glasses until he got an answer.

“Okay,” Tim grumbled. “I'm nearsighted.”

The man turned the glasses over and then peered through them. “Ah. You need these to see what's in the distance?”

This bloke has never seen eyeglasses before? Where's he been?
“Yes. Can I have them back, please?”

The man nodded and held them out to Tim, who grabbed the glasses awkwardly, his wrists still bound together. He put them on and took a better look at the stranger.

The man was tall, and he had a weathered face that bore the unmistakable signs of outdoor life. His long straight hair was lighter than Tim's, but his eyes were the same shade of brown. He wore a long leather coat, high leather boots, and one glove. His shirt and trousers were of some
soft material Tim had never seen, and they were the purplish color of twilight. A large, smooth stone hung around his neck on a leather cord.

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.”

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.