Wayfarer (13 page)

“There is no refuge for Linden here,” insisted Rob. “With the little magic you have, you cannot hold the Oak against the Blackwings, not even for a moment. You must send Linden away if the rest of your people are to survive—and is it not better to send her out with a purpose than with no direction at all?”

“But if Linden leaves us, the Oak will still be at risk,” objected Valerian. “We need her to sustain the glamour that hides our doors and windows from human eyes—her spells may be weak and unpracticed, but they are all the protection we have.”

“I can help you with that,” said Rob. “I have no skill
with illusion, but if you close your shutters I can command this tree to grow a fresh layer of bark across them, until only a slit remains. You will have air and a little light, and no human will guess your Oak is inhabited—at least, not so long as you draw your curtains and guard your lamps carefully after nightfall.”

Linden held her breath, watching Valerian. The new Queen's head was bowed, her eyes shut. At last she said, “Even the Sight cannot counsel me otherwise. I accept your offer. Linden will go.”

Fearful excitement fluttered through Linden. She had another chance to help the Oakenfolk—and now, it seemed, Rob and his people as well.

“Yet one thing still troubles me,” Valerian went on. “If the Blackwings are so swift, so powerful, and so ruthless—how can Linden and Timothy hope to escape them even for a little while, let alone stay ahead of them long enough to find the Children of Rhys?”

“I know!” said Linden. “We can take the train!” After all, it had worked for her and Timothy before, and even the strongest ravens could only fly so fast or so far….

Valerian looked at Rob.

“It is possible,” said Rob. “My people dislike train stations, for the scent of so many humans together is unpleasant to us, and we have our own methods of journeying from one place to another. Most faeries loyal to the Empress would scorn to travel in such a way—and that pride may prove to be their weakness.”

The Queen sighed. “I can only pray that you are right,” she said. “But so be it. Linden, go quickly now and say your farewells, and pack what you need for the journey. As soon as Timothy and Knife return, you must go.” She took Linden by the shoulders and stooped to kiss her brow, adding softly, “And may the Great Gardener watch over you.”

 

The sun was high over the rooftops of Oakhaven by the time Timothy and Peri returned. Peri backed the car into the drive, so they could get away quickly if need be, and the two of them sprinted into the house shouting, “Good news!”

Paul wheeled quickly to meet them in the corridor. “It worked? You actually found out about the Children of Rhys on the
internet
?”

Timothy nodded and held up the pages he'd printed at the library. “I've got a legend that tells where the Children are and how to find them. I don't know how much truth there is to the story, but it's the best chance we've got….” He looked over at Peri, who nodded and said, “Off you go. Hurry.”

“Where's he going?” asked Paul as Timothy raced up the stairs. He was nearly at the top when he heard Peri reply in a rueful tone, “Well, that would be the
bad
news.”

Even so, there was one good thing about knowing his life was in danger, thought Timothy as he stuffed some more clothes in his backpack. If nothing else, it had made him very wide awake.

Reluctantly he shoved his guitar a little farther under
the bed—he wished he could take it with him, but it would only get in the way. He was heading down the stairs again when a tentative knock sounded at the back of the house. Timothy hurried down the hallway just as Peri unlatched the glass door and Linden burst inside, human-sized and quivering with nervous excitement.

“I'm so sorry I worried you. I know I should have left a note—”

“Never mind that,” said Peri, quickly returning Linden's embrace. “I'm just glad you're—” She broke off, frowning. “What's that bird doing out there?”

“It's Rob,” said Linden. “He came with me from the Oak, but he can't come in unless you invite him. Would you?”

“Of course,” said Peri sweetly, but there was a dangerous gleam in her eye. She flung the door open and addressed the robin on the veranda, “Greetings, Rob of London. I am Perianth, also known as Knife, Queen's Hunter and chief protector of the Oak. I may be human now, but I was born as much a faery as you are, and if you dare to use magic on me without my permission again, I will
shoot
you.” She stepped back, holding the door wide. “Now that that's settled, will you come in?”

Timothy had never seen a bird look embarrassed before, let alone contrite, but this one did. He fluttered over the threshold, unfolded himself into six feet of lanky height, and stood meekly by Linden's side.

“Well?” asked Paul.

Rob looked down at his feet, and all at once Timothy realized that the male faery was younger than he'd thought. It was only Rob's formal way of speaking, and that ageless look all grown faeries seemed to share, that had fooled him. “Cold iron,” Rob said in a subdued voice. “If you have a piece small enough for Timothy to carry, it will weaken any spells that the Blackwings try to cast over him.”

“Good suggestion,” Paul remarked. “But if it affects faery magic, won't it weaken Linden too?”

“It will make it hard for her to cast spells on Timothy, yes. And she must take care not to touch the iron herself, or she will not be able to use her magic for some time afterward. But believe me, the benefit of carrying such a talisman will be far greater than any risk.”

“Right,” said Paul, turning to Peri. “There's a key in the old trunk upstairs that should do the trick.” Then as she started off he added, “And while you're up there, bring down my suitcase, will you? I need to pack.”

“Suitcase?” exclaimed Timothy. “Where are you going?”

“Good question,” Peri said, turning to face her husband with her hands on her hips. “I thought we agreed that
I'm
going with them.”

“No doubt they'd be glad if you did,” said Paul. “But the Oakenfolk need you here. Besides, I'm Timothy's guardian, so if anybody's going to drive him to the back end of Wales, it ought to be me.”

Linden's eyes lit with sudden hope. “Wales? You mean you've found out where the Children of Rhys are?” But then Rob spoke up:

“Your intentions are noble, human, and I cannot fault your courage. But a single car, once identified, is easily tracked—and as Timothy and your mate can tell you, easily intercepted as well. Also, the Blackwings must take Linden and Timothy alive to earn the Empress's reward, but they have no such command concerning you. I do not advise it.”

Peri dropped into the chair next to Paul, her face a portrait of frustration. “But
someone
has to go with you,” she said to Timothy and Linden. “It's dangerous, and you're far too young.”

“It's a good thing no one told
you
that when you were fifteen and fighting crows twice your size with the blade of my old craft knife,” said Paul. “Somehow I don't think it would have gone over very well.” But a corner of his mouth turned up as he said it, and he put his arm around her shoulder and kissed her cheek with a tenderness that held no reproach.

Peri relaxed a little. “Yes, but—”

She was interrupted by a frantic pattering at the door. They all looked around to see Thorn crouched on the veranda, hammering on the glass with both fists.

Instantly Peri leaped up and threw the door open. The faery flashed inside, shouting, “Close it! Close it now!”

“What's going on?” Peri asked as Thorn dropped to the
mantelpiece, one hand pressed to her heaving ribs.

“Saw them—from the top of the Oak,” gasped Thorn. “Two of them—too big for crows. Flying in from the northwest.”

Rob went very still, and his eyes became distant, as though he was listening. “She is right,” he said at last. “The Blackwings have found us.”

There was a moment of dreadful silence. Then:

“I'll hold them off,” said Peri. “The rest of you, get ready to move.” She took a step toward the door, but Rob intercepted her.

“This is folly,” he said. “What can you do against them? Whatever you may have been once, you are a mere human now, and you have no magic.”

“Maybe not,” agreed Peri, and her mouth curled in a bleak smile. “But I do have a gun.” And with that she sprinted off down the corridor, leaving Rob staring after her.

Paul spun his chair to face Linden and Timothy. “Right, this is what we're going to do. Knife will keep the Blackwings
distracted at the back of the house while we sneak out the front. Then I'll drive you to the train station.”

He didn't even notice that he'd called her
Knife
, Timothy thought, and a shiver went through him at the strangeness of it. But Paul was still talking: “Linden, do you think you can cast some kind of glamour to hide us?”

“I can try,” said Linden in a small voice. The excitement that had lit her eyes earlier had vanished; she looked tense now, and very pale.

“The glamour you need is simple,” Rob assured her. “If you hold a picture in your mind of the front of this house as you wish it to seem, it will appear so to the Blackwings until you are safely away. The only thing that might enable them to see through your illusion is if they hear you leaving—but I can cast a spell of silence to prevent that.”

“But what will you do when we've gone?” Linden asked anxiously. “How will you get away?”

Rob's mouth quirked, as though her concern amused him. “I will be safe enough here in this house until the Blackwings have gone. They will not sense my presence—never fear; I have my own tricks and am a match for either of them.”

“Assuming that fat head of yours will still fit out the door when they're gone,” said Thorn sardonically from her perch above the fireplace; but Timothy could see that she was shaken. She rose and dusted off her breeches, adding, “I'd best get back to the Oak before that blighted pair of
carrion-eaters arrives. Linden, you watch yourself—and the boy, too.” And with that she heaved open the window and disappeared.

“Timothy!” shouted Peri's voice from the floor above, and Timothy raced down the corridor to answer. He reached the bottom of the stairs just in time to catch the glimmering object she tossed down to him—an old-fashioned iron key.

“Thanks,” he said as he slid it into his pocket, only realizing his mistake when he saw her flinch. “Sorry.”

“No matter,” she replied. “Old habits, that's all.” She galloped down the rest of the stairs and pulled Timothy into a rough embrace before reaching out to do the same with Linden, who had just hurried up with the others. She stooped to kiss Paul, gave Rob a curt nod, and strode toward the back door with rifle in hand.

“Will she be all right?” Linden asked Rob. “Will they hurt her?”

“They have no knowledge of your history, or hers,” said Rob. “To them she will appear no more than another ignorant human shooting at them for sport: As long as they do not suspect that she is knowingly defending you, she should be safe. But enough talk. The way is clear. Go.”

 

Rob's spell of silence seemed to be working, because as Linden crept out the front door and onto the gravel drive with Timothy and Paul behind her, none of them made a sound. The car doors opened without creaking, and
shut just as noiselessly; and when Paul transferred from his wheelchair into the driver's seat and turned the key, only a slight vibration assured Linden that the engine had started at all.

She closed her eyes and pictured the front of the House just as Rob had told her, with an empty car sitting in the drive and no humans or faeries in sight, even as in reality Paul was already easing the car out onto the road. The effort made her temples pound, though not as badly as she'd feared; after a moment she even dared to look back to see what the Blackwings were doing.

If she craned her neck she could just make out Knife standing tensed by the side of the House, watching the ravens as they circled high above. The air between their wings shimmered, and ripples of power expanded across the Oakenwyld, breaking against the House and the great Tree.

“They're searching for us,” she whispered.

Suddenly the two birds wheeled in midair and veered toward them. “They've spotted us!” gasped Linden, and Paul's hand moved sharply on the controls, urging the car to greater speed. But the road was winding, and it would be all too easy for their faery pursuers to cut them off—

Then Knife burst through the gate into the front garden, swung up her rifle, and fired.

It was a spectacular shot. Black feathers exploded into the sky, and the lead raven shrieked and straggled downward. Immediately his brother dove after him, and the two birds plunged into the shadows of the woods.

“Yes!” exulted Timothy from the front seat, but Linden slumped down beside Paul's folded wheelchair and closed her eyes, shuddering. Knife had indeed saved them—but at what cost? She had only winged the raven, not killed him. And if his brother could heal his wound as Rob had healed hers last night, it might not be long before the two of them rose up to take their revenge….

Timothy must have been thinking the same thing, because when he spoke again he sounded less confident, as though he were trying to reassure himself. “She'll be all right. Even if they do suspect she was helping us, they won't do anything to her. They can't afford to waste the time.”

Paul did not answer. His expression was grim, his eyes fixed on the road. In silence they sped away, leaving the Oakenwyld and its lone defender behind them.

 

Timothy had assumed Paul would take them to the station at Aynsbridge, but his cousin had a different plan. “You'll get away faster from Oxted,” he said, “and it'll make it harder for the Blackwings to catch up with you. When I drop you off, just go to the information desk and tell them you want to get to Cardigan as fast as possible; they'll tell you where to go from there.”

“Cardigan?” asked Linden from the backseat. “Is that where we're going?”

“Somewhere around there.” Timothy pulled the pages out of his jacket pocket, unfolded them, and handed them
back to her. “There's a map of Wales there. See where I've circled Cardigan, on the coast? And the next couple of pages are the information I found about the Children of Rhys.”

“The Plant Rhys Ddwfn, or Children of Rhys the Deep,”
read Linden aloud.
“A small fair folk dwelling upon the Green Isles of the Sea…came often to market at Cardigan, and paid the farmers generously in silver…”
Her lips formed a soft
O
of comprehension.

“Right, so that's why I thought Cardigan would be the place to start looking,” said Timothy. “But the last page is the best of all—it's a story about this farmer named Gruffydd who actually met the Children of Rhys.”

He waited as Linden read over the legend, which told how the farmer had been walking through St. David's churchyard when he noticed some beautiful green islands out at sea. He decided to sail out to the islands in his boat, but as soon as he left the church, they disappeared. Gruffydd had gone back and forth in confusion a few times before realizing that he needed to pull up some of the strange plants that grew in the churchyard and take them with him in his boat. He did so, and when he reached the islands, the Children of Rhys greeted him warmly and gave him rich gifts.

“So if we're going to find the Children,” said Linden slowly as she finished reading, “we have to find this churchyard and these magical plants first?”

“I know it sounds far-fetched,” said Timothy. Then
his mouth twisted wryly and he added, “Or considering that I'm talking to a faery, maybe not. But it sounds to me like the church isn't far from Cardigan, so it can't hurt to look, right?”

Linden nodded, though she still looked uncertain, and Timothy couldn't blame her. How much confidence could they have in a story that was now hundreds of years old?

“There's something else about the Children you should know,” she said, and went on to tell him about the conversation she and Valerian had with Rob in the Oak—including what the Empress had done to gain power over all the faeries, and how the Stone of Naming was the only way to free them. “But these legends don't say anything about the Stone,” she finished, looking down at the pages again. “I hope Rob wasn't mistaken….”

“So do I,” Timothy said grimly.

A few minutes later Paul dropped them off at the station, pressed a wad of notes into Timothy's hand, and roared off back down the road to Oakhaven. And now Timothy stood on the platform with Linden in his backpack and Paul's money in his wallet, watching the sign that read

 

LONDON BRIDGE: 5 min.

 

He hadn't wanted to go back to London at all, especially not to the same station they'd arrived at before, but the woman at the desk said there was no help for it. “Only
way to get where you're going at this hour, love,” she'd explained as she was printing off his tickets. “And you've got a long enough journey ahead of you as it is.”

It was early afternoon now, the commuter rush long past, and when Timothy boarded the train he found it more than half empty. Still, he had difficulty finding a seat where he could talk to Linden without being overheard.

“It's going to take us until nightfall to get to Wales,” he told her when she emerged, disheveled and blinking, from the depths of the pack. “And the train only goes as far as Aberystwyth, so we'll have to stop there overnight and take a coach to Cardigan in the morning. But before that we're going to have to spend something like an hour in London, getting to the station where we'll catch our next train. And that's what I'm worried about.”

“Do you think the Blackwings will catch up with us?” Linden asked.

“I doubt they can fly that fast. But they're not our only problem, remember? All the Empress's faeries will be looking for us. Especially if the Blackwings tell them we're coming.”

Linden sucked in her breath. “Can they really do that?”

“I don't know. But just after I met Veronica the first time, I saw her talk into her hand as she was walking away. Back then I thought that she must be using a cell phone, and I'd just missed seeing her take it out of her purse…but now I think she was using magic. That must be how
she arranged for that other faery to meet me at the Trans-National and give me that card for Sanctuary—”

He broke off to see the woman passenger on the other side of the aisle frowning at him: She obviously thought Timothy was talking to himself. Embarrassed, he bent over and pretended to be searching for something in his pack, lowering his voice to a whisper as he went on. “The point is, if they
do
have some way to talk to one another over a distance, then there's a good chance the faeries in London know we're coming, so we'll have to be on our guard. Can you tell when another faery is around?”

Linden shook her small head. “Valerian has that power, I think, and obviously Rob does, too, but not me. I can smell them, though, if they're close by. Will that be good enough?”

“It'll have to be,” said Timothy.

 

“May I come out now?” said Linden as loudly as she dared, wondering if Timothy could even hear her amid all the noise of the station. “It's hot in here.”

“Just wait until I'm through the turnstiles,” Timothy muttered over his shoulder. “Then I'll find somewhere to let you out.”

Reminding herself to be patient, Linden drew a deep breath through her nose, concentrating on all the smells filtering in to her: sweat and skin, metal and rubber, coffee and spices, all heavily overlaid with the dusty canvas of the pack and the faint soap-and-musk that was Timothy. But
in all of that, not a trace of the wild, tingling scent of her fellow faeries.

“All right, you can come out now,” said Timothy at last, and Linden wriggled out of the pack and dropped to the floor beside him, making herself human size again. By now she hardly had to concentrate at all to make herself grow, and being big felt almost as natural as being small. The spell didn't even give her a headache anymore.

“I think Rob was right,” she confided to Timothy as she stepped out from the shadows. “The Empress's people don't like these places. Maybe they don't even know we—”

Timothy caught her by the arm and jerked her back as a huge man in baggy clothes strode past. “Watch where you're going,” he said. “In a crowd like this, you can't count on other people to watch out for you.”

Linden blinked and looked around, noticing her surroundings for the first time. Behind her, a set of moving staircases rose and fell with mesmerizing smoothness. Beside her was the darkened alcove where Timothy had let her out of his pack. And stretching before her—a wide, windowless tunnel, swarming with more people than Linden had seen or even imagined in her life.

They came in every skin color, every possible size and shape. Their clothes and hair were such a riot of styles, textures, and hues that she felt hopelessly drab, like a wren among goldfinches. But strongest of all was the wave of sheer
humanness
that washed toward her, that thick, meaty smell pungent with chemicals and salt.

“Come on,” said Timothy, tugging at her, and Linden obeyed, gulping shallow breaths to calm her nausea. She clung tight to Timothy's hand, and together they plunged through the crowd to the end of the tunnel.

They had just emerged onto a platform whose sign read NORTHERN LINE when the ground rumbled beneath her feet. Linden clapped her hands to her ears, her hair whipping in all directions, as a giant metal snake came crashing out of the darkness and hissed to a stop in front of them, disgorging more humans onto the platform. Linden's knees wobbled, and she couldn't move until Timothy took hold of her and practically dragged her inside.