The Faerie Path (5 page)

And at the center of this new-waked universe stood the Faerie King, smiling down at Anita as if she was the brightest thing in this bright new world.

She gasped. “How did you do that?”

“I am Oberon,” he said, as if that explained everything.

She turned in a slow circle. It was unbelievable. Stunning. Now she almost
could
believe that she was in the Realm of Faerie.

Gabriel was standing behind her. “Not alone did the King reawaken the light,” he said gently. “It is you, my lady, who is at the heart of this miracle.”

“And it was you, Lord Drake, who returned my daughter to me,” Oberon said. “Your rewards shall be as great as it is in my power to bestow.”

Gabriel dropped to one knee. “I ask nothing more than to be your most devoted servant,” he said, lowering his head. “All that I have done was done for your sake, and for the eternal Realm of Faerie.”

Oberon stepped forward and rested his hand on Gabriel’s head. “This I believe to be true,” he said, then his tone grew a little grimmer. “And in gratitude, I shall not ask by what dark arts you returned my daughter to me.” As Gabriel looked up at the King, Anita glimpsed a flash of apprehension in his silver-gray eyes.

“Rise, Lord Drake,” Oberon said. “In recognition of your service to me and to Faerie, I grant you the Earldom of Sinadon. From henceforward you shall be Lord Chancellor and sit at my right hand in my Council.”

“Your Grace honors me far beyond my desires or my merits,” Gabriel breathed as he rose to his feet.

“And now,” Oberon said, turning to Anita, “I wish to speak with my daughter.” He called out, “Wardens, throw back the shrouds, and bring food and wine.”

Men in holly green uniforms appeared out of the shadows, and the heavy draperies were rolled up and tied back so that the new sunlight was able to flood
into the covered cabin at the back of the barge.

Oberon rested an arm around Anita’s shoulders and drew her under the awning once more. He sat on the carved wooden chair and gestured for her to sit on a padded stool at his feet. Gabriel followed them and stood quietly behind the King’s chair.

For what seemed to Anita like a very long time, the King sat there gazing at her. Gradually, as the thrill of what had just happened became less overwhelming, she began to feel awkward and uncomfortable. She glanced up at Gabriel and he smiled reassuringly at her.

A servant placed a dish of fruit on a low table at her side. Another servant brought a jug of dark red cordial and three crystal glasses. The King made a small gesture with his fingers, and the servant poured the drink before slipping silently away.

Oberon lifted two glasses, handing one to Gabriel. “To your return, Princess Tania,” he said. “And to the blessed Realm of Faerie reborn.”

Anita picked up her glass and the three glasses touched rims with a single ringing chime. She sniffed the cordial. It smelled richly of fruit. She sipped. It tasted delicious, and as she swallowed, a warm glow went down through her.

She looked up at the King. “So, what happens now?” she asked.

“The rest of eternity,” Oberon replied. He smiled. “Do you remember the song we used to sing?” He began to sing in a deep, sonorous voice:

He paused, looking at her as if he expected her to do something.

“I’m sorry,” Anita said. “I don’t know it.”

He frowned. “We sang it many times together,” he said, sounding puzzled and even a little bit hurt. “And Zara would play the spinetta.” He looked closely at her. “Do you truly not remember?”

She shook her head. “Sorry. I’d love to, but I don’t remember a thing.” She gave him a regretful smile. It didn’t seem like the right time to point out to him that this was all just a dream. “I don’t even know what a spinetta is.”

The King leaned back, turning his head to look questioningly up at Gabriel.

“She has been lost in the Mortal World for five hundred years, Your Grace,” Gabriel said. “All that she once was sleeps now in her mind. But I do not doubt that time will bring back her memories.”

Oberon nodded. “Time, and the company of those who love you,” he said, smiling again at Anita. “Lord Drake, will you take my daughter to her chamber?”
He rested his hand against Anita’s cheek. “There you will find raiment and other such things that may help you to remember who you truly are.”

She frowned at him. “Raiment?”

“Clothes,” Gabriel explained, coming around from behind the King’s chair and holding out a hand to her. She took it and stood up.

“Go now, Tania,” the King said. “And tonight there shall be feasting and merrymaking such as this realm has not seen for half a thousand years!” He stood up and kissed her on the forehead. “My blessings upon you, my child,” he murmured.

She smiled up at him. “Thanks. And the same to you.”

Gabriel helped her back up onto the jetty. She turned and waved. Oberon, still watching her, lifted his hand in reply.

“I like him,” she confided to Gabriel as they walked along the jetty. “If I didn’t have a really great dad back home, I’d definitely short-list him for the job.”

The King’s voice rang out. “As soon as the Princess is ready, take her to meet her sisters,” he called. “They have longed for her return, and their presence will help her find her true self more swiftly.”

“I shall, Your Grace,” Gabriel called back.

They began to follow one of the stone paths across the lawns to the palace. “I’ve got sisters?” Anita asked him. Then something clicked in her head. “That’s right; in the story, I’m the
seventh
daughter of Oberon
and Titania, aren’t I?” she said. She stared at him. “Does that mean I have
six
sisters?”

“Indeed, my lady.”

Anita grinned. “It must be a nightmare getting into the bathroom in the morning.”

Gabriel smiled and tilted his head. She noticed that he always did that when he didn’t understand her.

“It was a joke,” she explained. “Don’t worry about it. Do I have any brothers?”

“No, my lady.”

She gave him a thoughtful look. “Is there any chance of you calling me Anita? All this ‘my lady’ stuff is a bit formal if we’re going to be friends.”

Gabriel paused and looked at her. “You have known yourself as Anita for sixteen years,” he said. “But for five hundred years, in my memory and in my heart, you have been Princess Tania. Forgive me, but until you remember yourself truly, I beg leave to call you my lady.” His voice softened. “But when the Princess Tania returns in mind as well as in body, then perhaps our friendship will deepen, and you will permit me to call you by another, sweeter name.”

Anita felt a curious shiver slide down her spine as his deep gray eyes looked into hers. “Uh…okay,” she said. “I can live with that.” She suddenly remembered that in the story, Princess Tania had disappeared on the day she and Gabriel were supposed to get married. Did that mean Gabriel still thought of her as his long-lost fiancée? That would be pretty weird, but Anita decided not to ask him about it just yet.

They carried on walking, under the arched gateway and through into the cobbled courtyard.

“So,” she said, feeling uncomfortable with the silence that had grown between them, “where exactly are you taking me?”

“To your chamber,” Gabriel said. “In the Royal Apartments. It is not far.”

“Royal Apartments, eh?” Anita was looking forward to finding out more about Princess Tania, and her bedroom seemed a good place to start. “Cool!”

Anita stared around the bedchamber in delight. Gabriel had just left to go and tell her sisters that she was back. For the first time since her dream began, she was entirely alone.

She gazed up at the ceiling; a decorative wooden lacework spun like an intricate spider’s web against the ivory white plaster. The walls were paneled in dark polished wood and hung with tapestries that glowed with bright, vivid colors. There were rolling green landscapes with distant blue, mist-shrouded mountain peaks, and finely embroidered seascapes with tall ships under full sail, heading toward a far horizon. On another wall, a wide land of golden cornfields seemed to stretch away forever beneath a sapphire sky. And on the fourth there were great cliffs of ice and snow, standing on their own perfect reflections in indigo water.

A hint of remembrance pricked the back of Anita’s mind. There was a sense of longing in the tapestries,
of a wistful yearning for faraway places, that almost reminded her of something. But no, the more she tried to capture it, the more slippery the memory became. Was she really having faint flashes of a different life, or was it just her dreaming mind playing tricks on her?

The room was dominated by a magnificent four-poster bed hung with crimson curtains that stretched up at least double Anita’s height, so that they nearly touched the ceiling. One wall was filled with mullioned windows that looked out over ornate, formal gardens. Another wall held a huge wardrobe. A washstand stood in one corner, with a white porcelain basin and a tall pitcher for water. All the furniture was solid and heavy-looking, the chairs and stools padded with crimson upholstery, the chest of drawers laid out with small personal items.

Anita walked across the polished wood floor to the chest of drawers. Lidded jars and delicate glass bottles stood clustered together. An open wooden box spilled glittering jewelry over the handheld mirror and tortoiseshell brushes that lay next to it.

Anita took a ruby earring out of the box. It was set in white crystal; even the clasp seemed to be made from the same delicate stuff. She held it to the side of her head, looking at her reflection in the hand mirror. She shook her head, putting the earring and the mirror down again. They didn’t make the half-glimpsed memories any clearer.

She crossed the room and opened one of the
wardrobe doors. It was filled with beautiful, full-skirted gowns in a dozen different colors.

“Amazing!” she breathed, running her fingers over the scalloped bodices and thick, many-layered skirts. Some of the gowns had fine white lace on them; others were heavily embroidered or sewn with pearls and sequins. They were exactly the kind of clothes she had tried on for her role as Juliet. One thing was for sure, Princess Tania had great taste.

At one end of the wardrobe, Anita found a simple shift of white linen. Quickly shedding her pajamas, she slipped the shift over her head. It came to her knees, and had a low, square-cut neckline and long sleeves. Then she picked out a beautiful aqua-colored gown. She stepped into it and carefully eased it up over her hips, slipping her arms into the sleeves and wriggling until it sat comfortably.

She shook out the floor-length velvet skirts. The heavy, embroidered material felt a little odd, but the gown seemed to fit her perfectly. Anita was beginning to enjoy herself; being a Faerie Princess certainly had its good points.

She had just finished lacing the bodice when her head started to spin. She felt as if she was going to faint. The floor shifted and undulated under her feet, and to her horror, the bed and the furniture and even the walls began to buckle and melt in front of her eyes. Startled, Anita grabbed at the wardrobe door. A roaring wind sang in her ears and bright bursts of colored
light flashed in front of her eyes. Wincing, she shut her eyes tightly.

Then, as quickly as it had come, the feeling that the world was becoming molten all around her was gone and she was left shivering and disorientated and sick to her stomach.

She opened her eyes and found herself staring into the wardrobe.

The luxurious dresses had vanished.

She heard the bubble of children’s voices close behind her, and then there was a woman’s voice, calling for hush.

Anita spun around.

The room was different. The bed was still there, but most of the rest of the furniture had gone. The tapestries still hung from the walls, but the scenes on them had changed. Now they showed men and women in clothing that looked to Anita as if it came from biblical times, and the colors were pale and faded.

A woman stood at the foot of the bed, facing away from Anita and surrounded by a group of girls maybe eight or nine years old. They were dressed in jeans and T-shirts and hooded tops, with brightly colored backpacks slung over their shoulders.

In those few, mad, stomach-churning seconds Anita had been dragged out of her dream and back into the real world. Had she woken up at last?

But she was not in her hospital bed.

“This room is known as the Queen’s State Bedchamber,” the woman announced, completely unaware of Anita standing by the open wardrobe door. “This is the original bed-frame, although the curtains and the bed covers are modern reproductions based on a sixteenth-century design.”

Anita stared at the children. Where on earth was she?

It reminded her of somewhere she had been before.

But where, and when?

Hampton Court.

On their school trip, the tour guide had brought them into this very room. Anita recognized the tapestries.

One of the girls at the back of the group turned her head and stared straight at her. The girl’s freckled face broke into a wide smile. “I like your dress,” she
said. “Who are you supposed to be?”

Anita opened her mouth to reply, but before any words could come, she was hit again by the fierce howling wind. She fell to her knees as the storm rushed through her head. The colored lights blinded her, and the floor seethed and rolled under her as if the world had become liquid.

“Stop!” she shouted. “Stop it!”

Everything went still.

She was crouched, panting, on the floor. Behind her the wardrobe was full of gowns, and all around her the tapestries glowed with vibrant color, depicting landscapes and seascapes once more.

Anita used the wardrobe door to help her to her feet. Her legs felt shaky.

“What was
that
?” she breathed. “What just happened to me?”

A dream within a dream?

She took a few deep breaths and the giddiness began to fade. She didn’t want to be alone in this room anymore. She didn’t want to risk that happening to her again. She walked quickly to the door and pulled it open.

She let out a startled yelp as a young woman appeared right in front of her in the doorway. Anita just had time to see that the girl was wearing a similar type of gown to the one she had on, and the girl had long golden hair and bright blue eyes, before the young woman let out a scream of delight and threw her arms around Anita’s neck.

“Tania! It is really you!” she cried, her face buried in Anita’s hair. “Gabriel told us that you had been found—after all these endless dark years of waiting and hoping!”

“Hello,” Anita said breathlessly. “It’s nice to see you too—whoever you are.” As gently as she could, she prised the young woman’s arms away from her neck and looked into her smiling face. “I’m guessing we should know each other,” she said.

“Oh, yes, indeed, my poor darling sister,” the young woman said. “Gabriel said you remembered nothing of your real life.” She stepped back, looking hopefully into Anita’s face. “I am Zara,” she said.

Anita stared at her. She was small and slender with a pale, fine-boned face and wide eyes and a wide smile. Her hair curled like spun gold over the shoulders of her yellow gown.

“Hello, Zara,” she said.

“Do you remember me?” Zara prompted.

Anita shook her head. “No, not really,” she said. “Sorry.”

“No matter,” Zara said brightly. “Time will heal your wounds. I will take you to meet our sisters.” She slipped her hand under Anita’s arm and towed her along the corridor. “They will be so glad to see you again,” she said. “We have missed you so dreadfully.”

Anita smiled at her. “Back home, I’m an only child,” she said. “I quite liked being on my own. I don’t remember ever wishing for brothers or sisters. So why have I dreamed up six older sisters? It’s kind
of weird, don’t you think? Or is it just because there were seven sisters in the story?”

Zara gave her a confused look and then laughed. “Gabriel told us your words would be strange sometimes,” she said.

Anita raised an eyebrow. “What else has he told you?”

“That there is to be a grand ball tonight,” Zara said, her voice bubbling with excitement. “A ball to celebrate your return.” She broke away from Anita and did an elegant pirouette, spinning so that her gown spread wide and her hair fanned out around her face. “We have not held a ball for five hundred years! Imagine it, Tania. Remember how we used to love dancing, remember the lords who courted us, and the music, and the lights, and the feasting, and the fireworks over the river?”

Anita said nothing. Zara stopped in her tracks, looking at Anita with a sudden devastating pity. “Do you remember nothing of it, Tania?”

“I don’t even remember being Tania,” Anita said. “I wish I did. It sounds like a lot of fun.” She frowned at Zara. “Are you really more than five hundred years old?”

“Nay, I am but seventeen,” Zara said. “I have been at my present age ever since time froze. But I will grow toward my maturity now, I am sure.”

Anita gulped. “So everyone here is going to get old and die now—and all because I came back?”

“Do you not remember, Tania?” Zara said. “We
people of Faerie do not die.”

“Never?”

Zara shook her head. “Never of old age; we die only by mischance or ill fortune.”

“So, we’re all kind of…immortal?”

“Indeed we are!” Zara nodded and ran back to loop her arm around Anita’s again. “Come,” she said. “We will go to the library. Sancha will be there.”

Anita decided to save thinking about being immortal for another time. It was a bit too much to take in right now.

“I’m guessing Sancha is another sister, yes?” she said.

Nodding, Zara pulled Anita along the hallway. “And then, away to the seamstress,” she said excitedly. “For we will all need new gowns for the ball.”

Smiling, Anita surrendered herself to Zara’s enthusiasm.

She followed her sister through high, ornately furnished rooms and along wood-paneled halls and down wide stairways. All around them as they walked, Anita could see the palace coming back to life.

Servants in holly green livery swarmed everywhere, wielding brooms and brushes and cloths for polishing. Windows were being thrown open and gray sheets were being drawn back off the shrouded furniture. The corridors echoed with a buzz of happy, laughing voices.

As the two of them passed, servants and maids bowed and curtsyed with lowered heads. Once, a
young servant boy glanced up at Anita, his eyes filled with timid curiosity. Anita grinned at him and went cross-eyed. He looked so startled that Anita laughed out loud.

Zara stopped at a pair of tall, arched doors. She pushed one of the doors and it swung slowly inward. She glanced back at Anita, her eyes sparkling. “Sancha has become even more studious since you have been gone,” she said, putting her finger to her lips. “She insists that all be silent upon entering her library.”

Anita followed Zara through the part-open doorway.

She found herself in a huge circular hall with a high-domed ceiling. Shafts of sunlight poured in through tall, slender windows, brightening the great well of air. The floor was patterned with spiraling rings of black and white tiles, and tiers of ornate wooden galleries soared upward around them, linked by winding staircases.

Anita stared around in amazement. The curving walls on every level of the hall were clad in shelf after shelf of books. Thousands upon thousands of them. And there was a kind of brooding, scholarly hush in the hall that reminded her of a cathedral and made her walk softly on her bare feet.

A solitary figure sat with its back to them at a round table in the center of the room.

Zara tiptoed forward. Anita followed quietly behind her.

It was another young woman, with long chestnut
brown hair drawn back off her face and tied so that it hung down over the back of her simple black gown. She seemed to be totally absorbed in reading a large book that lay open on the table in front of her.

Zara crept up behind her and leaned in close.

“Sancha!”

Sancha almost leaped out of her chair. “Oh! The sun, moon, and stars!” She gasped, her hand to her chest. She turned, frowning at her sister, and Anita saw that she had a long, slender face and deep-set, dark brown, intelligent eyes. “Zara! What naughtiness is this, you foolish child?”

Zara turned and pointed, and Sancha’s black eyes came to rest on Anita.

“Oh!” She stood up and walked toward Anita, her eyes wide, reaching out with both hands. “Welcome home, Tania. It has been long, too long.”

“Thanks,” Anita said, taking Sancha’s extended hands. “You’ll have to forgive me—I don’t remember any of this.”

“I doubt it not,” Sancha said. “It is wonder enough that you have been brought back to us at all. The long dark waters of Lethe lie between us, but time will surely reveal a boatman to ferry you across.”

Anita blinked at her. “Uh…yes…I’m sure it will.”

“Sancha often speaks such nonsense,” Zara said, smiling at Anita. “She reads far too much. I gladly admit I do not understand half of what she says.”

“That is because you are a flibbertigibbet with the
mind of a mayfly,” Sancha replied.

“And you’re a little gray mole with inky fingers and melancholy humors,” Zara retorted affectionately.

Anita grinned at them. Yes, these two were definitely sisters. No doubt about it.

“I am taking Tania to the Seamstress’s Apartments,” Zara said. “You must come too, if you can bear to be parted from your books. Father has called for a grand ball, and we must all have new gowns.”

“I will come with you,” Sancha said. “Although my present gown will serve my needs.”

“Black?” Zara said scornfully. “I think not! Come, I shall pick a brighter color for you. Do you have a favorite color, Tania?” While Anita hesitated, thinking, Zara swept on: “No matter. Mistress Mirrlees will find something to delight you.” She danced toward the door. “Come, sisters! Time is wasting!”

The seamstress’s workroom was a long low chamber filled with sunlight and noise and activity. The walls were lined with shelving that held bales and rolls of colored fabric. From open chests spilled foaming froths of lace, sinuous rivers of silk, and tumbling mounds of cotton dyed in a rainbow of colors. Most of the floor space was filled with long tables where cloth was being measured and cut by women dressed in simple blue gowns.

“Behold! The lost lamb has returned!” Zara called out as the three of them came into the room.

The bustle and the murmur of voices stopped
abruptly as all eyes turned toward them. Moments later, Anita found herself surrounded by an excited crowd of women bobbing and curtsying and staring at her in awe.

She laughed, taken aback by the effect she seemed to have on these people. They were treating her like a movie star at a premiere.

She became aware of three other women approaching her. The green-clad servants parted deferentially to let them pass, and Anita guessed they must be more of her sisters.

“Cordelia,” Zara whispered in Anita’s ear as the first of them came up to her.

Cordelia was wearing a dark russet dress with a collar of red fur. Her red-gold hair was cut raggedly at her shoulders and her wide, smiling face was full of freckles. She had the same piercing blue eyes as Zara, but there was a wariness in her gaze that made Anita think of wild animals.

Cordelia gave Anita a sudden, fierce hug. “Welcome home,” she said.

“Thanks.” The fur collar of Cordelia’s gown pressed against Anita’s cheek. It felt strangely warm. Almost before she had the time to register it, the fur moved and Anita found herself gazing into a pair of bright black beady eyes.

Anita pulled her head back with a gasp.

It was a red squirrel. It swarmed around Cordelia’s neck and gathered itself into a watchful russet ball on her shoulder.

“Oh! Hello there,” Anita said, reaching out a tentative hand. “You startled me. Aren’t you pretty?” The squirrel let out a sharp, high-pitched chirping sound and vanished down Cordelia’s back. A split second later, Anita was aware of a red blur racing across the floor, up the shelves, and onto the sill of an open window.

“Have no fear, little one!” Cordelia called to the quivering animal. “It is only our sister!” The squirrel gave another cry and vanished through the window.

Cordelia turned her head back and smiled at Anita. “He will not listen to me,” she said with a soft laugh. “I will speak with him later and calm his fears.”

Anita stared at her. “I didn’t mean to frighten it,” she said.

“It is of no matter,” Cordelia said. “After dwelling in half-light for so long, the sun has made all the animals uneasy. It will pass.”

A second woman approached, very tall and slim, wearing a brown dress embroidered with vines and leaves and dark flowers, and with dark brown hair that hung loose to her waist. She had the same solemn, noble face and intense blue eyes as Oberon.

“Hopie,” Zara whispered in Anita’s ear. “She is the healer. She has no interest in what clothes she wears. You will see, it will take all my powers to get her out of her brown habit!”

Hopie cupped Anita’s face in her hands and gazed levelly at her. “You have been gone too long,” she said, and her voice was almost as deep and musical as the King’s.

“So people keep telling me,” Anita replied. “But I’m back now.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “For however long it lasts.”

Hopie frowned.

Anita shook her head and smiled. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I didn’t mean anything.”

“Rathina?” Zara called to the third woman. “Will you not come to greet your sister?”

“Indeed, I will,” the woman said. Anita had been half aware that the third sister had been holding back, but now she stepped forward and gave Anita a hug.

“Welcome, Tania,” she said.

Anita gazed at her. She was wearing a scarlet gown trimmed with lace and beaded with ruby jewels. Her hair was long and black and lustrous, and she had the most perfectly beautiful face that Anita had ever seen, heart-shaped with wide hazel-brown eyes, high, slanted cheekbones, and a full red-lipped mouth.

But there was something in Rathina’s eyes and in her voice that made Anita feel slightly ill at ease. A kind of wariness or reserve that made her wonder whether they had ever been close friends.

While Anita was still thinking about this, Hopie turned and spoke to a plump woman who stood nearby. “Mistress Mirrlees,” she said. “I have much work to do; I cannot waste time over gowns. Pick for me something appropriate—in brown.”