Into the Wildewood (25 page)

Keelie tried once more to separate herself from the tree as it pushed its roots further out, and the tips and rootlets sought the soil and sank deep again. Her canopy moved forward, then back again. As if she were the tree, she thrust out her branches for balance, and an abandoned robin’s nest broke free of her shoulder and fell, turning over and over to splinter on the ground below. Around her roots the humans swarmed, running back and forth. She saw herself at the base of the tree.

Bruk, the tree’s name was Bruk, and she was a sapling of the mighty Silak of the ancient place, the untouched forest that felt no pain except the sky fire that sometimes came before the rain.

“Dilly! Aw, lass, are you sick, too?” She heard the words and understood them, but had no voice to answer.

She was back. Keelie opened her eyes. She was lying in the middle of the dirt path. Sir Brine stood over her, a paper-wrapped pickle in his fist and a worried expression on his face.

“Are you back with us? I think you knocked your noggin on the tree.” He grinned nervously. “Don’t want you to get sick, girlie.”

Over his shoulder she saw Bruk the tree. The oak had become more lifelike, more human in appearance. It was looking down at her, and sitting on a massive branch by its eyes was the white cat, chin pointed up and eyes slit shut as if he was smelling the air. The face in the oak blinked, then the eyes, nose, and mouth formed back into knots. The cat shook itself, then seemed to collapse, draping itself onto the branch. The scent of loamy earth and deep forests on a cool spring day surrounded her, as did a sense of calm. The oak tree was quiet; asleep and pain-free.

Keelie sighed with relief. The cat looked down at her and meowed piteously.

Sir Brine rubbed his head. “I could have sworn I saw a face in that tree. What is the Faire administration thinking? We pay more and more to run our businesses, and they’re spending the money on fancy animatronics instead of putting in a decent bathhouse.”

Keelie ignored his rant, but she couldn’t ignore the fact that he’d seen the tree. Where was Dad? She couldn’t handle all this by herself. On top of everything else, how was she going to get that idiot cat out of the oak? Not that she had to. The first thing was to get some aspirin, because her head was throbbing. Keelie got up and dusted off her pickle costume. She should never have touched the tree without the rose quartz. She knew that. Being inside a tree was an all-new experience, though.

“Back to work, Dilly.”

Sir Brine was working it, and Keelie dutifully handed out pickles to buyers. Elia walked up, her harp in one hand, and placed her other hand on the barrel lid as if to keep Keelie from getting another pickle. Her long golden hair twisted in bright curls, cascading down to her little waist. She wore a long, fitted gown with wide, sweeping over-sleeves in blue, and tight, gold-embroidered green sleeves underneath. The green sleeves were loosely laced over a fluffy, thin white cloth. A low leather belt was clasped around her waist, worked all around with oak leaves and acorns. It hurt Keelie that Elia was so beautiful on the outside and so hideous inside.

As if to prove her point, the elf girl leaned forward and hissed, “Tell me where the unicorn is, and I won’t hurt the little human girl.”

Keelie glanced around. The little girl and her mother had not gone to the zoo yet. They were coming down the steps of Lulu’s shop. Lulu seemed pathetically happy to see them.

Keelie removed Elia’s hand, then lifted the lid and reached in and grabbed a pickle. “I thought elves weren’t supposed to use magic in front of humans.”

“We’re not, but I need to know where the unicorn is. If you don’t tell me, then I’m going to follow that little girl to the petting zoo, and I will make sure that all the animals hurt her because you were nice to her. All kinds of odd things are happening at the Faire today, are they not?” Elia plinked a harp string for added emphasis and smiled insincerely.

Keelie matched her fake grin as she wrapped the pickle in wax paper. “I don’t know where the unicorn is.”

“He is here. I can sense him. And he summoned you last night.”

Keelie remembered Dad’s warning to not discuss the unicorn. No worries there. “Were you hoping that he would come to you, Elia, and he didn’t? Maybe you scared him away.”

“So amusing. But if you don’t get the unicorn here right now, then I’m going to follow through on my threat. Don’t forget I cursed your bird, and I can curse that ugly little human pig.”

Keelie slammed the barrel lid down on Elia’s fingers. The elf girl yelled and snatched her hand back, dropping her harp. She glared at Keelie. “That hurt!”

Keelie grabbed the harp and held it close to her chest.

“Get your filthy human hands off my harp,” Elia screamed.

Sir Brine watched them, wide-eyed, from a crowd of Faire goers that had gathered thinking the girls were putting on a show.

Not missing a beat, Elia cradled her hand against her chest as if she were hurt. Her voice rose, plaintive, over the crowd. “I have to find Prince John, and I will see that this wicked pickle peddler is punished. Now give me back my harp, you villainous wretch.”

Keelie shrugged, pointed to her ear, and shook her head.

Elia stomped her foot on the ground and shrieked. “Get over the lame act. You can talk. I want my harp back.”

“Dilly, you must return the harp to Princess Eleanor.” Sir Brine grabbed one end of the harp as Keelie clung to the other. His voice lowered to a hiss. “You idiot. What do you think you’re doing?”

For a few seconds, a tug of war continued between Keelie and Sir Brine, while Elia held up her hurt hand and pretended to cry.

“What is this?” Little John’s familiar voice boomed over the clearing. He wrapped his burly arm around Elia, who glowered at him. Then she smiled, as an evil idea had popped into her brain.

“Oh, Little John, save my harp,” she squeaked like a maiden in distress. “I was attacked by this beastly pickle peasant, and she’s stolen my harp.”

Little John’s face reddened, and his eyes narrowed as he shot Keelie and Sir Brine a very nasty look.

Keelie had seen that overzealous look before. Here was someone who was still Little John after the Faire was closed and the mundanes had gone home.

Sir Brine released his end of the harp and pointed at Keelie. “She stole it from Lady Eleanor.”

What a wuss!

Little John released Elia and held his staff before him. The crowd had grown, and now they cheered. “Little John. Little John. Little John.”

He punched a fist into the air, then turned on Keelie. “Peasant, are you going to give Lady Eleanor her harp back, or am I going to have to persuade you?” He twirled his staff as if he were a member of the Sherwood Marching Band. And he was looking straight at Keelie.

Yup. Somebody hadn’t taken his medication this morning and had slipped back into his own little make-believe medieval world. It wasn’t worth a broken arm.

Keelie shoved the harp toward a smirking Elia, who hissed “round-eared peasant.” She took her harp and made a big show of examining it for damage, before tossing her curls and leaving in a swirl of skirts.

Victorious, the rogue and delusional Merry Man held his staff up and the crowd cheered.

Little John made a “V” with two fingers and pointed toward his eyes, and then at Keelie. He marched away, accompanied by his growing band of admirers. A dark figure peeled away from the crowd and walked toward them, applauding enthusiastically. It was Raven. She laughed as she turned to watch Little John’s parade go around a corner, then whirled back to face Keelie and Sir Brine.

“And to think that just weeks ago we could hardly get you into a costume. You’ve gotten to be quite the drama queen.”

Behind Raven was someone in a Francesca costume. If Keelie hadn’t been green on the outside before, she surely was now. Laurie wore a scrumptious Francesca gown in green and gold brocade with long flowing sleeves. The front skirt panel was printed with rich, deep golden leaves against a green fabric background, and she had a garland of matching flowers in her hair with ribbons flowing down the back.

Keelie groaned inwardly and steeled herself for a litany of pickle comments. She waited for them to start rolling off Laurie’s tongue.

Instead, Laurie did a twirl and ta-da stance. Keelie wanted to throw a pickle at her. Let’s see how she liked a little vinegar with her brand new outfit. But she pasted a smile on, just like Mom used to do when she ran into a client she didn’t want to talk to outside of the office, and choked the words out. “That’s really gorgeous.”

“Isn’t it? It’s so much fun shopping with Laurie. She doesn’t even look at the price tags.” Raven rolled her eyes. “We’re on our way to the braiding booth. Woo hoo!”

Dad was really, really, really going to owe Raven big time.

Laurie grinned. “Where are you going to be? I want to show you my hair after I’ve had it done.”

Keelie looked at Sir Brine, who beamed at Laurie. “We’ll be by the Maypole, mistress, and I’ll have a big pickle for you.”

Gross. She wondered if Finch knew that Sir Brine was a perv.

Laurie clapped a hand over her mouth, either to keep from gagging or laughing. Before Keelie could find out which, Lady Annie stepped outside her booth and hung more of her gorgeous boots on display hooks.

Laurie’s eyes widened. “Oh. My. God. Look at those cosmic-stellar boots. I’ve got to have a pair.”

Keelie’s heart dropped down to her toes. Laurie was already crossing the lane to Lady Annie’s. Life just wasn’t fair.

Sir Brine clapped a hand on her shoulder and shouted, “Move it, Dilly. We need to get to the Maypole.”

Raven leaned closer to Keelie. “I saw the face in the oak. There’s some bad vibes going on around here. A little while ago, the Bedlam Barrel ride went berserk. It took fifteen Faire workers to stop it, when normally it only takes two.”

“It’s more than bad vibes. We’ll talk later.”

“Dilly, move it,” Sir Brine yelled, then turned his cry into a pickle yodel.

“Dilly?” Raven asked.

Trying to maintain some of her tattered dignity, Keelie lifted up the handles of the wheelbarrow. “I have pickles to sell.” At least the boots had kept Laurie from commenting on her job, but that would come, she was certain. Laurie didn’t miss a thing.

She turned the cart around, anxious to get to the Maypole before Elia had a chance to possibly follow through on her threat against the little girl. Elia had seemed obnoxious, but not evil.

“Looks like you’re going to be pickle splatter, kid. He’s going to use the catapult.” Lulu was on her porch. She took a swig from her bottle, then kicked acorns from the top step. “You’re that Heartwood brat that played Plumpkin. I’ve had the worst luck since I moved next door to your booth; it’s like a never-ending psycho circus around here. I even saw your cat paw a number into a cell phone and meow into it the other day.” She snorted and took another long pull.

Knot on a cell phone. Even Keelie had trouble believing that one. Maybe a certain puppet maker had been hitting the mead for a touch too long.

Keelie hoped Dad would get back from the meeting soon. She wondered how much he’d sensed of the tree’s pain. Bruk had been struggling to get to him, and knew that the unicorn was sick. They had a lot to talk about, and if Finch found the shop unattended, her skull would split open and the inner fire-breathing dragon would explode from her head.

The white cat sat on the steps to the booth.

“Hey, bad thing. How did you get out of the tree?”

It stared at her intently, and for a moment Keelie saw an iridescent gleam in its fur. When she blinked, he looked like an ordinary white cat. This is what happened when you stayed out all night chasing unicorns—you started seeing things that weren’t really there. Or maybe one of the Rennies had put glitter lotion on the poor cat’s fur.

“Dilly, come along.” Sir Brine was way ahead of her.

Keelie pushed the barrel, and he began singing. “Do you know the Pickle Man, the Pickle Man, the Pickle Man. Do you know the Pickle Man, skipping down Pottery Row?”

If Sir Brine thought she was going to sing after that incident with Elia, forget it. She had touched Elia’s harp, had held it in her hand. Now that the elf girl had it back, there was no telling what she would do, which meant more work for Keelie.

She was beginning to see the tree shepherding tasks as her own work. Not only did it entail keeping the trees in line, and in balance, but also protecting them from harm—including from humans. Strange that she’d started thinking of people as “humans.”

She thought of Bruk, the Oaken Prince. He’d been hurting so much, and still he’d struggled to reach Heartwood. Keelie touched the aspen heart, which pulsed warm on her chest—a tangible sign of her heritage. She quickly let go of it as the cart, off-balance, pivoted to one side.

“Dilly, hurry up.” Sir Brine’s shout echoed embarrassingly from the faux stucco of the nearby buildings. Sweat dripped down Keelie’s back. People stopped and looked at her as she pushed the heavy cart uphill. She checked out the trees as she huffed up the path. The conifers that lined the wide, sloped track were calmer than the oaks by Heartwood had been. Her talisman was still warm against her skin, reassuring her that she was connected to the magic. Keelie hadn’t liked having her mental link to the forest blocked by the oaks on Enchanted Lane. She had to get back to Heartwood as soon as possible, to check on the trees and to make sure Dad had returned from the lodge. She glanced back and saw Raven disappear into Lady Annie’s, where Laurie probably was waving her credit card. Life sucked.

twenty-one

Keelie caught up to Sir Brine at the intersection of Lincoln Green and Sherwood and stopped, panting. She watched as he twirled the curlicued end of his huge mustache between his fingers and bowed to the Faire patrons as they passed by, particularly the women in low-cut summery tops. He glanced at Keelie. “Not speaking, huh? Good, you’re staying in character. You won’t give me any grief then.”

What she wanted to do was let the stupid pickle cart roll back down the hill, and then watch Brine push it back up. He needed the workout.