The Prince of Two Tribes (29 page)

“And if we don’t?” Dmitri shook his head. “We end up in the lake with hypotherminus.”

“Hypothermia,” Harold corrected.

“Whatever,” Dmitri retorted. “We could die.”

“That’s the only way I see us doing this together,” Chester insisted. “Either we try it my way or I go on alone.”

Delia rolled her eyes and stepped forward. “I’m in. Don’t be such little girls!”

She reached up and grabbed Chester’s hand, holding out her other hand to Dmitri. When given the chance to hold a

pretty girl’s hand, Dmitri decided death by frigid drowning was a small price to pay. He grabbed the proffered hand. Harold reluctantly reached out and took Dmitri’s other hand. Thus linked, Chester faced the edge of the boardwalk and, smiling grimly, stepped past the pole with the red ribbon fluttering on top.

One by one, the little group followed him. Each in turn disappeared into the wall of fog.

They emerged on a rough wooden dock. The boards creaked beneath their feet. They were all alone. The frozen lake vanished into the fog.

“Holy crap,” Harold breathed. “This is amazing!” Dmitri gasped. “It worked!” Chester laughed. “Now what?” Delia demanded.

As if in answer, they heard a bell ringing out over the lake. The sound of waves slapping on wood came to them an instant before a boat emerged from the mist. The craft was like a boat out of a storybook with a high prow carved in the shape of a dragon.
⁵⁸
A tall man in an old-fashioned rain hat and oilskin coat stood in the stern. They watched in trepidation and wonder as the boat glided, propelled by no

obvious means, and bumped against the dock. The tall man placed one foot on the planking of the dock to secure the vessel before addressing them.

“The Ferry is here,” he rasped. “I am the Ferryman, Brother of the Ways. What payment shall you offer?”

“Payment,” Harold squeaked. “What kind of payment?”

“You must pay the fare. Gold. Silver or precious stones.”

Delia was the only one of them who seemed nonplussed by the situation. She dug in her jacket pocket and came out with a handful of change. She held it out for the Ferryman to see. “How much is it?”

The Ferryman shook his head. “Gold. Silver or precious stones.”

“But this is money!” Delia insisted.

He merely shook his head.

“I get it!” Dmitri said suddenly. “There’s no silver in coinage anymore. It’s mostly nickel and other alloys.”

“So it has to be real? Okay.” Delia fumbled at her wrist. She was wearing a charm bracelet. With a little effort, she managed to detach a silver snowflake charm. She held it out to the Ferryman, who plucked it from her palm with nimble fingers. He held it up under the brim of his hat. He sniffed the metal and nodded. “Board.”

“Great,” Delia said. “I have charms for everybody.”

The Ferryman raised a palm. “No. Each one must pay his way with his own coin. That is the Law.”

“What Law?” Delia demanded.

“The Law of the Brotherhood of the Ways. There are no exceptions. Each must pay the fare.”

Delia opened her mouth to argue but closed it again as if she suddenly realized whom she was talking to. She stepped off the wharf into the boat.

Harold reached into his backpack. After a bit of digging, he pulled out an old-fashioned fountain pen. Unscrewing the cap, he revealed a shiny metal nib. He held out the pen to the Ferryman. “It’s gold.”

The man took the pen, held it up, and sniffed. He nodded once. “Board.”

Harold sidled warily past him. Dmitri reached into his jacket and drew out a silver chain. He tugged gently, snapping the chain from his neck and holding it out. “My Saint Christopher medal.”
⁵⁹

The Ferryman’s head tilted slightly to one side as he took the chain and held it up glittering before his face. “A Brother of the Ways. Board.”

Dmitri scuttled over to join Delia and Harold in the craft. Only Chester stood on the dock. Chester just stared evenly at the tall figure without making any attempt to search for payment.

“I haven’t got anything to pay you.”

“A Boon then,” the Ferryman rasped. “A Boon in exchange for passage.”

“Boon?” Chester frowned. “What’s a Boon?”

“A bargain,” the voice intoned. “A promise. I will ask for a service in the future and you must do what I will or thy life is forfeit.”

Chester didn’t say a word. He just stood on the wharf, thinking it over.

“Don’t do it,” Harold urged him. “Are you crazy?”

“It isn’t wise,” Dmitri agreed. “You have no idea what he’ll ask of you.”

Delia didn’t speak. She just stared at Chester, waiting. Chester returned her gaze. Something in her face made him decide.

“I agree,” Chester announced.

“Board!” The Ferryman instructed in his cavernous voice. Was there a hint of satisfaction in his tone? It was impossible to tell. Chester stepped past him onto the boat with his companions, and the Ferryman pushed away from the wharf into the fog.

“I was expecting more,” Brendan said as he walked along the path. He and Charlie were heading to the Community Centre where the Swan was hidden. So far, there had been a few stalls selling food, the kind of thing you’d see at a county fair, with sandwiches and cider, hot drinks and sweets.

“Just wait.” Charlie smiled. “We aren’t at the Faerground yet.”

“Fairground? There are rides and stuff?”

“Not fair with an i. Faer with an e.”

“What’s the difference?”

They emerged from the trees into a clearing. Brendan caught his breath. They had crossed some kind of invisible barrier. The island had been grey and bare the last time he’d been here. The park surrounding the Community Centre had been utterly transformed. A city of magnificent tents and pavilions crowded around the white clapboard building. The entire space was ablaze with torchlight. Multicoloured flames sprouted from torches planted in the ground on long poles. The tents were a riot of different cultural designs: wigwams, yurts, teepees, brocaded silks, and billowing Arabian fantasies, all in bright and festive hues. There was no rhyme or reason to the layout. It was as though a caravan of insane nomads had fallen from the sky and decided to set up camp.

“Wow,” Brendan breathed. Then he had a thought. “What do the Humans who live on the island think of all this stuff?”

“They won’t see any of it.” Charlie laughed. “They’ve been convinced to stay in their homes by glamours.”

The variety of tents was exceeded by the variety of Fair Folk frolicking among them. Every imaginable national costume was represented, and every historical era. Each Faerie had dressed extravagantly in order to stick out, and the result was jarring to the eye. Brendan had never seen so many Fair Folk in one place. The effect was overwhelming.

He looked up and gasped again. Faeries had strung cables from tree branches and stretched a maze of colourful high wires across the entire open space. Faeries dashed and somersaulted along the tightropes performing amazing feats of agility. Everywhere, Lesser Faeries swarmed and chased one another at dizzying speeds.

Brendan noticed something else. “Hey … Am I crazy, or is it suddenly warm?”

“As balmy as a spring day,” Charlie agreed. “Part of the glamours. We don’t feel the cold, but why not just have a bit of spring in the heart of winter?”

Brendan couldn’t argue with that. Still, he was dumbfounded and his expression must have been goofy because Charlie laughed again. “Come on,” she said, tugging him back into motion. “Let’s go to the market.”

They plunged into the heaving throng, shouldering their way through the press. Brendan’s ears rang with a barrage of languages: English, French, German, Chinese, and others that he couldn’t place. Musicians added to the din, playing impromptu concerts on a bizarre array of traditional and incomprehensible instruments. DJs were spinning club mixes in tents filled with gyrating dancers. In the alleyways between the pavilions, Faeries blocked the way in knots, pausing to dance whenever they felt inspired.

Brendan’s worries melted away. He had been concentrating on the Proving so fiercely, he hadn’t given a thought to what a Faerie Clan Gathering might actually be like. He found himself caught up in the insanely joyful mood of the Faerground. As they made their way through the chaotic maze of cloth tunnels, he found himself dancing with a number of partners, singing songs he’d never heard before, and being embraced by total strangers. He was only slightly aware that people were pointing at him and whispering. He tried not to feel self-conscious. By the time they reached the lawn-bowling green beside the clubhouse in the centre of the tent village, he was feeling a lightness of heart that he’d never realized he’d been missing these last few weeks.

When the Faerie convention wasn’t in town, the bowling green was a flat, manicured lawn bordering the Community Centre. Now it had been appropriated as a marketplace. Stalls had been set up all around the perimeter, selling a bewildering variety of wares. Toys, clothes, jewellery, hats, books, and antiques with indecipherable purposes were laid out on velvet pillows to be pawed by potential buyers. Potion sellers hawked their wares, professing the beneficial health effects of their herbal infusions and ointments. Souvenirs were on offer just as they would have been in a Human flea market. Faeries haggled with merchants. Coins were exchanged along with insults and jokes.

Everywhere Faeries wandered, singly or in raucous groups. In the centre of the green, a large tent sheltered a temporary extension of the Swan of Liir. Huge wooden kegs were suspended on sawhorses, and the ale flowed liberally. Charlie led Brendan into the tent. As they arrived, Og was just topping off a foaming mug. He turned, slopping the amber contents of his tankard as he raised it to his lips. He saw Brendan and his heavy face split open in a grin.

“Well, well, well! Here he is himself. Welcome, Brendan, me boy!” He made his way through the throng toward them.

Brendan’s stomach fluttered. Everyone nearby had heard Og’s booming greeting. Most eyes turned to search for him and he wished he could disappear. Some of the faces were filled with curiosity, a few were unreadable, and a few revealed undisguised disdain. He tried to cling to the happy mood and ignore the worry that gnawed at his mind once more.

Og found them a rough trestle table and they sat down.

“Will ye have a pint of ale, then, Brendan? Put hair on yer chest?”

“No thanks, Og,” Brendan declined. “My mum wouldn’t approve.”

“She wouldn’t even know!” Og declared.

“Gotta stay sharp,” Brendan insisted.

“Suit yerself,” Og conceded. “What do ye think of the Clan Gathering, me lad? Impressive, what?”

Brendan nodded. He cast his gaze about the clearing, marvelling at his surroundings.
If only Harold and Dmitri could see this. They’d flip!
Brendan immediately felt a stab of sadness. He could never share this with them. He’d made that decision when he’d Compelled them to forget. Now he was alone. Well, not exactly alone. He had Greenleaf, Deirdre, Og, and Kim. He had Charlie.

He watched her as she waded through the crowd to the bar. She had really wrapped herself around his life in such a short time. He didn’t know how he felt about that. She was certainly very beautiful. She was fun to be around. But he’d seen another side of her: she was desperately lonely and sad. He remembered her crying in his arms and saying, “I never wished you harm.” What did she mean by that?

She sensed him staring at her and turned her head to smile at him. His heart tightened. He was about to wave at her when his eye caught a sharp movement behind her shoulder.

Brendan saw Lugh, the tall, sinister Faerie companion of Pûkh. The silver-haired Faerie bent over and spoke angrily into Charlie’s face. The revellers parted for an instant, long enough for Brendan to see that Lugh had a huge hand clamped on Charlie’s shoulder.

Brendan was out of his seat in an instant and forcing his way through the crowd. After a few curses and well-placed elbows he reached Charlie. Just as he arrived, he heard Lugh’s sharp voice.

“You must reconsider. Pûkh will not be pleased if you refuse him.”

Charlie shook her head fiercely, her jaw jutting out. “I don’t care what he threatens me with.”

“Let go of her,” Brendan demanded.

Lugh stared hard at Brendan with his cold grey eyes. Finally, he said, “This does not concern you, Princeling. Begone.”

“She’s my friend.” Brendan tried not to let the fear jangling in his heart show in his voice. “So it does concern me. Let her go.”

Lugh continued to stare at Brendan, hand firmly clamped on Charlie’s arm.

“Let de girl go,” said a deep voice, echoing Brendan’s demand.

Leonard stood with a wooden keg on his shoulder. His muscles bulged from the strain of holding the barrel upright. His dark face was serious as a gravestone as he stared Lugh down.

Lugh’s lip hovered at the doorstep of a sneer. He let go of Charlie’s arm and without a word stalked off into the crowd.

“Thanks, you guys,” Charlie said. “But you didn’t have to worry. I’m fine.”

“What did he want?” Brendan asked.

“It was nothing.” Charlie waved the question away, but Brendan saw the lingering fear in her eyes.

“It didn’t seem like nothing. What did he want?”

“Nothing I could give him.”

“That Lugh is a creepy dude.”

Charlie’s face clouded. “Yeah, he’s creepy, all right. You should stay away from him. He’s dangerous.”

“Believe me,” Brendan said, “I’ll keep a healthy distance from that guy. I just don’t like the way he was bugging
you.”

“I can take care of myself,” Charlie said. “Lugh and Pûkh do not have your best interests at heart, Brendan. Believe me.”

“How do you know?”

Charlie looked down, boring a hole in the sandy ground with her foot. She seemed about to say something, but Kim’s arrival interrupted her.

“Hey, everybody,” Kim said with a wave.

Kim was decked out in clothes that Brendan had never seen her wear before. She was usually a T-shirt and jeans type, but today she was total Faerie. She wore skin-tight green leather trousers and a tight embroidered silk tank top that showed off her elaborate vine tattoos. Her hair was dusted with gold and her feet were bare. Her field hockey stick was slung over her shoulder with a green leather strap.