Wayfarer (9 page)

That stopped him. Timothy's bruised mouth twisted in frustration, but he couldn't think of anything to say.

“I know you've been hurt,” Linden told him quietly. “But you should know something else, too. Ever since the first time you came to Oakhaven, Knife—I mean Peri—has been telling me about you. She always said how clever and funny you were, and how much she enjoyed having you stay. But she also warned me, whenever you came, that I mustn't come to the House until you'd gone. It's not just you, Timothy—she doesn't trust
anybody
with our secret. Because the secret's not hers to share.”

Timothy hesitated. Then he dropped down onto the bench beside her, staring at the floor.

“I can't go back,” he said heavily. “Not yet. Just…I'm not ready.”

Linden didn't say anything for a long while, and he wondered if she was angry. But when she spoke, her voice was calm:

“Then you'll just have to come to the Oak with me.”

Timothy seemed so cynical and world-weary at times, Linden had almost forgotten he was only a little older than herself. But now the eagerness in his face made him look truly fifteen again. “You mean it?” he said. “But I'm…Can you really do that?”

“I think so. It would just be a temporary change, of course, and I'll have to keep renewing the glamour so you don't go back to your proper size. But…” Linden's brows furrowed as she considered the problem from every angle. At last she said with more confidence, “Yes. We'll have to try it. It's the only way.”

“I don't know,” said Timothy, though he sounded
reluctant to admit it. “Bringing a human into the Oak—isn't it going to get you in a lot of trouble? It might be easier if I just took a train to France or something.”

“I'll hide you from the others,” she said. “At least until we've had a chance to talk to the Queen and tell her our story. She's very wise; I'm sure she'll understand. Especially once she hears about the Empress wanting to kill you.”

And perhaps, if the Oakenfolk did Timothy this favor, he might even be willing to repay them by helping Linden search for more faeries. After all, two travelers were safer than one, and surely the Empress wouldn't keep hunting for them forever?

Timothy looked out across the station, eyes distant as he considered her offer. Then he stood up, reaching for his guitar case.

“All right,” he said. “Hop into my pack, and we'll go.”

 

By the time Timothy stepped off the train at Aynsbridge, the sun was just visible over the treetops, like a white hole punched through the sky. The air smelled clean here, damp and earthy, and as he walked down the steps from the platform into the parking lot the breeze that chased him felt surprisingly mild. Still, he was glad for his extra layer of clothing, and he could only hope that the Oak would be warm.

“Linden?” he said. “You can come out now.” But she didn't answer. Carefully Timothy slid the backpack
off his shoulders, lifted the flap to look—and there lay Linden, fast asleep. Her wings were folded against her back, and she had curled herself up in a nest made from one of his shirts.

So small,
thought Timothy. Even now, it seemed impossible that the girl who had rescued him from Veronica could also be a faery tiny enough to stow away in his backpack. Not to mention how strange it was that in the space of just one night, this same faery had somehow become a friend.

Yet Linden was so different from anyone else he'd met in the last few months that Timothy couldn't help liking her. She didn't judge him by the shoes he wore, or what music he enjoyed, or who his parents were; she hadn't insisted that he share her beliefs or live by certain rules to please her. She'd just accepted Timothy as he was—even more than that, she'd risked her life to help him. How could he not be grateful for that?

Timothy slipped his arms back through the straps of the backpack and set off again, treading softly so as not to wake Linden. Aside from the occasional passing car the road before him was deserted, and he dared to hope that Rob had been right: They'd escaped the city before the Empress and her servants could find them, and if they could just make it to the Oak, they'd be safe.

Half an hour later, Linden was still asleep, and Timothy had left the village well behind. The familiar wood rose up
on one side of the road as he walked; he came around the bend and there, in the near distance, stood Oakhaven.

Time to get off the road, before Paul or Peri saw him. Turning off just short of the stone bridge, Timothy followed the footpath along the riverbank, dodging in and out among the trees until he reached the wood's northeast corner. He could see the Oak now, stark and majestic against the pallid sky—but in between lay open meadow, and how could he get across without being seen?

Timothy set down his guitar and lowered his pack to the ground. “Linden, wake up.”

He heard a rustle, and then Linden emerged from beneath the flap, stretching and yawning. “What is it?” she asked, and then, “Oh!” as she saw the Oak. She fluttered out of his pack and made herself human size again, grimacing a little as her shoes squelched into the muddy ground. “All right then, let's go.”

“Wait,” said Timothy. “I thought you were going to make me small.”

“I am. As soon as we get to the Oak.”

“As soon as Paul or Peri happens to look out the window and spots us walking across the field, you mean?”

Linden puffed out a frustrated breath. “Oh, Timothy. Would it really be so terrible if they did? It wouldn't take long for the two of us to just tell them where we're going, and why. Is it really fair to leave them worrying about you?”

“They're not going to be worried,” he said firmly. “I left them a note. They won't be expecting to see me for three weeks.”

“Well, they've certainly been worried about
me.
What am I going to say to them if I can't even mention you?”

Timothy said nothing, and at last Linden heaved another sigh and said, “All right. But it's going to be a long walk.”

She turned to face him, and Timothy's pulse started to beat faster. He was actually about to go
inside
the Oak, explore that mysterious place that no other human had ever seen…

“Wait,” said Linden suddenly. “Your guitar. What are we going to do with it?”

Timothy glanced down at the case still sitting by his feet. “Can't I bring it?”

“It's going to be awfully awkward,” she said, giving it a dubious look. “Especially getting it up the Spiral Stair. Can't we just leave it here?”

“In the cold and damp? No, thank you—”

Linden winced. “Please don't.”

“What?”

“The…the last thing. Don't just say”—her voice dropped to a whisper—“
thanks
like that. Especially if you don't mean it.”

Timothy frowned, but she seemed serious. “Why?”

“Because it's a special word to us. Sacred, even. To thank someone means you're so grateful for something
they've done, you consider yourself to be in that person's debt forever—and believe me, we faeries don't take that idea lightly.”

“Oh.” Timothy was subdued. “Sorry.”

“Anyway,” Linden went on more briskly, “let me think. Oh, yes, I know.” And with that she whisked the guitar off the ground and hurried away with it. A few minutes later she came back again, empty-handed and looking pleased with herself.

“What did you do with it?” Timothy asked.

“Put it back in your room. I made it small, flew up to your window with it, and sneaked it under the bed. It should be all right there, shouldn't it?”

“Excellent,” said Timothy admiringly. “Th—I mean, I appreciate it.”

Linden gave a little, almost shy smile. “It's all right. Now…” She reached out and put her hands on his shoulders as though she meant to push him down to faery size by force. Timothy's skin prickled, a thrill running through his whole body; then dizziness swept over him, and he clutched at Linden's arms as his knees buckled—

The tingling faded. Linden let go, and Timothy opened his eyes.

It was breathtaking, and a little daunting, to see the field stretching out in front of him like some withered alien jungle. The Oak still rose in the near distance, but now it looked huger than ever, a colossal pillar bisecting the sky.

“Come on,” said Linden. “Hurry.” And she flitted off. Timothy thrashed after her, wincing as the wet grass whipped at his arms and legs. In minutes his jeans had soaked through and his sneakers were heavy with mud, but the Oak seemed little closer than it had been before. His heart sank as he realized how much farther they still had to go.

“I don't suppose—you could make me some wings—too?” he panted to Linden.

“That would mean turning you into something different than you are,” she called back. “I can make you smaller for a while, but that's all.”

Somewhere in the wood behind them, a crow gave its raucous cry. Timothy froze. “Did you…Back in the restaurant, when you were telling me about the Oakenfolk…didn't you say that crows…”

“Eat faeries, yes,” said Linden. “Which is why we've got to hurry. And keep your eyes open for burrows you could hide in, just in case.”

The idea of crawling into a muddy hole didn't much appeal to Timothy, but neither did being eaten. No wonder Linden's people preferred to stay inside the Oak. “Right,” said Timothy faintly, and kept walking.

By the time they arrived at the foot of the Oak, Timothy's legs felt numb, his teeth were chattering, and half his weight in mud seemed to be stuck to the bottoms of his shoes. He had to stop and scrape them clean before he could move
freely again. But as Linden led him down a rough ladder to a shadowy, root-framed door, he felt the old excitement resurface. He'd made it, they were really here—

“What is it?” he asked, seeing the look of distress on Linden's face.

She held a finger to her lips, then replied in a near whisper, “The wards that protect us from humans are down again. And so is the glamour I put on the Oak to hide our doors and windows. You didn't notice?”

Timothy shook his head. He'd been so focused on getting inside the Oak, he hadn't even paid attention to the outside.

“Well, maybe it's not as obvious as I thought,” said Linden, but without much conviction. She leaned all her weight against the door; with a grudging creak it swung wide, and the two of them walked in.

They emerged into a vast, cavernous space, where dim light filtered down from window slits high above. To their left, a round tunnel stretched into darkness, while in front of them stood a door whose tarnished brass plate read
LIBRARY
. And to their right rose a spiral staircase wide enough for three faeries to climb side by side, its smooth-worn steps twining upward as high as Timothy could see.

“We'll have to go as quietly as we can, and hope we don't bump into anyone,” Linden whispered. “It makes my head hurt to keep up too many different glamours at the same time, so I won't make us invisible unless I have to—but it's a long way up to the Queen's chambers.”

Timothy nodded his understanding, and the two of them began climbing the stair together.

They trudged up past one landing, then another, all ringed with closed doors that looked virtually identical. He saw no paint or pictures on the walls, no carpeting, not even a single piece of furniture to distinguish one landing from another. The staircase itself was a fantastic piece of engineering, but on the whole, the inside of the Oak seemed to be a place built for function rather than beauty.

Still, to think of all this, carved into the heart of a single tree—he ran his hand wonderingly along the rail, feeling the age-polished wood. In all his childhood daydreams he'd never imagined anything like it.

“Someone's coming,” hissed Linden. She pulled him back against the inside curve of the stair, and sparkling heat rippled over him as she cast a glamour to hide the two of them from view.

Now he could hear the sound of bare feet padding down the stairs, see the glow of a lantern bobbing toward them. As the other faery passed he caught a glimpse of a square face and bluntly cut dark hair, saw the wings that sprang from between her shoulder blades. She paused to sniff the air, frowning, and Timothy held his breath—but then the faery stomped on down the steps and was gone.

Who was that?
mouthed Timothy when Linden nudged him to start climbing again.

“Thorn,” she whispered back. “She's a friend…well,
mostly. I'd love to introduce you, but trust me, this would be a very bad time.”

Timothy could believe it. From the scowl on Thorn's face, he could just imagine the kind of tongue-lashing she'd be capable of giving out. Especially if she knew that Linden had brought a human into the Oak…

Meanwhile, the stairs kept spiraling upward. Timothy had played football so often back in Uganda, and even since he'd come to Greenhill, that his leg muscles were in pretty good shape; but as the two of them climbed through turn after turn, the gentle burn in his calves grew to a fiery ache. He was just about to beg Linden to stop and give him a chance to rest when she stepped up onto another landing, and he realized they'd reached the top at last.

An intricately carved archway stood in front of them, hung with red curtains as soft as velvet.
This is more like it,
thought Timothy, limping after Linden as they passed through into a paneled corridor gently lit by brass lamps. A bit more like a high-class hotel than faeryland, but at least some thought had gone into decorating it—even if all the furnishings looked at least a hundred years old and the draperies were worn through in several places.

They were almost at the end of the corridor when a voice spoke up primly from behind them:

“Her Majesty is not to be disturbed.”

Linden made a startled noise and spun around, putting herself between the newcomer and Timothy. She pushed
him back into the shadows, her invisibility spell prickling over him again.

“But Bluebell,” she said as the other faery advanced, “I have to talk to her right now. It's important.”

Bluebell swept up to them, her long skirts almost brushing the floor. The last time Timothy had seen a dress like that was in a museum. “There were two of you here a moment ago,” said the other faery suspiciously. “And what is that smell? Have you been with the humans again?”

“The Queen will want to see me,” Linden insisted. “I know she will. Just ask Valerian.”

Bluebell gave a disdainful sniff. “I find it hard to believe that the judgment of a mere Healer should matter more than the word of Her Majesty's own personal attendant. I tell you, the Queen is resting. If the message you have for her is so important, then you can deliver it to me.”