Wayfarer (22 page)

Timothy was silent, digesting her words. Then Paul said, “It looks like they're about to start. Come on, let's move a bit closer.”

 

By now Garan had shepherded all the faeries into a rough circle, arranging it so that all the Oakenfolk had at least one of the Children of Rhys beside them. As the last thin veil of cloud slid from the moon's luminous face, he turned and addressed them:

“The time has come.” He stepped back beside Linden, holding out his hand to her; she took it, and stretched out her own hand to Wink on the other side. The other faeries hesitantly did likewise, and in a moment the whole circle was joined.

Linden's heart pounded, and her breath came shallowly between her parted lips. She'd received magic from another faery before, but Amaryllis had been just one dying woman, and the Children of Rhys were strong and many. Would it hurt? What if one of the Oakenfolk panicked, or changed her mind at the last moment, and broke the circle?

“Linden,” murmured Wink in a pained tone, “you're squeezing my fingers.”

“Sorry,” Linden whispered, and forced herself to relax.

Beside her Garan stood with eyes closed, his brow furrowed in concentration. For a long moment no one moved, and the Oakenwyld was eerily silent. Then Linden saw it: A glimmer of light on the far side of the circle, a slowly expanding radiance that spread from Broch to Thorn and Campion, from Llinos to Mallow and Bluebell…and now the magic was glowing around her too, tingling hot and cold as it swept over her skin and swirled into her muscles and bones. Amaryllis's dying gift of glamour had thrilled her, but that had been a scant half share of a magic already weak with use and age. To compare it to the power flowing through her now…It was like comparing water to wine.

Still the energy built, until every pore in her body sang with it, and the circle of faeries blazed so bright she had to shut her eyes. The magic was too strong now, too much—any more, and she would faint, or explode—

Garan's hand slackened in hers, and the light died abruptly as the circle wavered and broke. One after another,
the Children of Rhys sagged to their knees and toppled onto the grass, unconscious.

The Oakenfolk all looked at one another, and Linden saw an apprehension on Valerian's face that mirrored her own. Had the magic transfer worked, or not?

“Look!” came a hysterical-sounding voice from beside her, and she turned to see Wink spreading a length of shimmering, gold-toned silk between her outstretched hands—cloth that seemed to have spun itself out of nowhere. On the other side of the circle Campion had grown to human size and was regarding her far-off toes in amazement, while Thorn rubbed her hands at a bonfire she had kindled on the grass. Faery lights danced through the air; a cluster of violets pushed their way out of the cold ground and stood nodding in the midnight breeze; a roast fit for the Midwinter Feast floated by, so real-looking that Linden could almost smell it.

Jasmine's curse was undone, and the Oakenfolk had their magic again.

“Here,” said Timothy, slinging the strap of his guitar around Linden's shoulders. They'd just finished having tea with Paul and Peri and were sitting on the veranda, savoring the first warm day of spring. “You've been listening to me play long enough—now you have a go.”

Linden hesitated, hands hovering above the strings. Then she shook her head and handed it back. “It's all right,” she said. “I don't think it's for me, somehow.” Much as she enjoyed hearing Timothy play, she felt no compulsion to do likewise; unlike the powerful bond that had drawn Paul and Peri together and sparked them both to artistic brilliance, the best her faery powers could do was make Timothy's
natural talent for music a little stronger. But that was quite normal, or so Queen Valerian had assured her; and seeing that Timothy would be leaving Oakhaven in another few days, it was probably for the best.

“If you say so,” said Timothy as he took the guitar back, but he looked a little disappointed. “Anyway, how are Garan and the others?”

“Doing better, but they're still tired most of the time. The Queen says it'll be a few more days at least until they all recover.”

“Good thing there's still no sign of the Empress, then.” Timothy ran his thumb over the strings, winced and adjusted one of the tuning pegs.

“I just wish,” said Linden as she watched a robin flutter down to land atop the box hedge, “that we knew what had happened to Rob.”

Timothy gave a little laugh. “Me too. Especially since I'm going to have to go back through London in a week or two, and if I'm going to be attacked it would be nice to know about it. I think I'll stuff a few bits of iron into my pockets, just in case.” He slipped the guitar strap over his head and began to play again, softly.

“Did you ever talk to your parents?” asked Linden. “About…you know.”

“I sent them an email this morning,” Timothy said. “I told them I'd been suspended for a couple of weeks, but not to worry, I'd be fine.”

Linden looked at him curiously. “And are you?”

Timothy was silent a moment, his hands flat on the guitar. “I don't know,” he said at last. “I still miss Uganda. I still don't fit in with the other boys at school, and I'm not sure I want to. I still wonder whether everything I grew up believing is really the truth, and I know it's going to take me a lot of searching and thinking to decide. But”—he took a deep breath—“I'm here now, and I'm going to stick it out. At Greenhill, I mean, unless they decide to expel me. I've had enough of running away.”

Linden tucked her arm into his and leaned her head on his shoulder. “I'm glad,” she said.

Timothy looked down at her. Then he took off the guitar and carefully put it aside. “Look,” he said. “I don't want to…what I mean is…I like you, but there's this girl back home, and…”

“Miriam,” said Linden. “I know. I saw the way you looked at her picture.” She let go of him and sat up. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I suppose I still have a lot to learn about how to behave around males.” She thought of the way she'd flung herself at Garan when he'd first arrived, and her cheeks grew hot. Did he think that she had
those
kinds of feelings for him, too?

“Well, with thirty-eight of them in the Oak now I'm sure you'll figure it out eventually,” said Timothy. “And believe me, if I ever get girls figured out, I'll let you know.”

Linden laughed—but the sound died on her lips as the
robin in the hedge flapped down onto the veranda, shimmered, and became a lanky young man with fox-colored hair. His eyes were shadowed with weariness and he bore a thin white scar across one cheek, but when he spoke, he sounded as wryly self-possessed as ever:

“If you do that, human boy, you will have achieved a victory indeed.” And with that he pulled a wallet out of his pocket, and tossed it to Timothy.

“Rob!” Linden leaped up to greet him—but then she faltered and hung back, suddenly shy. “I'm glad,” she stammered. “To see you, I mean.”

He held her gaze steadily, brows lifting in speculation; then he took her hand and brushed it with his lips. “And I to see you,” he said, his smile deepening as he watched her blush. “I would have come sooner, but I and my allies needed time to regroup and discuss our plans—and I also wanted to be certain that my feet would be sufficiently beautiful when I came.”

“Your feet…?” asked Linden dazedly, but then Timothy snorted and she realized Rob was quoting one of the Bible verses Timothy had used before the Empress.
How beautiful are the feet of those who bring…
“Oh! You mean—you have good news?”

“For now,” Rob said. “The Empress and her followers have been forced to abandon Sanctuary, and seek a new stronghold elsewhere. We rebels are still few in number compared to her forces, but our strength is growing by the
day—especially now that word of the Stone of Naming is beginning to spread.”

“So the Empress is in retreat,” said Timothy, looking up from his inspection of his wallet. “Which means we're safe for now.”

Rob nodded. “But that peace cannot last long, especially when the Oakenfolk have no magic to defend themselves. Which is why I thought—” He stopped short, staring, as Linden picked up a dry twig from the ground and touched it into bloom.

“I think you'll find,” she said, “that problem has already been taken care of.”

“What?” demanded Rob. He snatched the twig from her fingers and examined it incredulously. “This is no mere glamour. How did you get this power?”

“The Children of Rhys,” replied Linden proudly. “Or at least, a few of them. They've decided to join us and help us defend the Oak.”

Rob let the twig drop, and now he looked bitter. “Then I have come too late.”

“Too late?” Linden was puzzled, and then she suddenly understood. “Rob! You mean that you and the rebels—you'd decided to help us by giving us some of your magic, too? But I thought—”

I thought you still considered us the Forsaken. I thought you didn't want anything to do with humans, or faeries who would befriend them—and that you'd only helped us so that you could
get the Stone.
Not to mention what the Empress had said about where Rob had got his musical abilities…

“For years I have tried to convince myself that humans are inferior,” said Rob, “and that faeries do no wrong to use them. I had my own reasons for wanting this to be true, but I prefer not to speak of that.” A muscle jumped in his cheek. “Suffice it to say that on the night you and I first met, even as I parroted the Empress's doctrines to you my heart knew them to be false.”

Linden felt a rush of amazed relief. To think that Rob had seemed so certain of his beliefs about humans, even treating her condescendingly for thinking otherwise—she would never have guessed he was hiding such deep-seated doubts.

“I will not pretend to believe as you do,” Rob went on, his eyes still holding hers, “that the Great Gardener created us to help humans. But I do agree that neither of our peoples can prosper unless we work together.” He drew himself up straighter. “So I came to offer the Oakenfolk whatever magic or other help you might require—but I also hoped that by doing so, I might earn the right to bargain.”

“Bargain?” asked Linden. “For what?”

“Sanctuary is no longer ours,” said Rob, “any more than it belongs to the Empress. We need a new place to live and make our stronghold, and I had hoped the Oak—”

Linden could contain herself no longer. She darted forward and threw her arms around Rob, hugging him exuberantly. At first he stiffened in surprise, but then he
relaxed and returned her embrace, dropping his face against her hair.

“I take it,” he murmured, “this means we are still open to negotiation?”

 

Timothy watched, half smiling, as Linden took Rob by the hand and led him across the lawn toward the Oak, enthusing about magic and battle strategy all the while. Then he picked up his guitar and went back into the house.

“Is that what I think it was?” said Peri, emerging from the corridor. Her pale hair was disheveled and she looked flushed, as though she had been working.

“Not sure,” said Timothy as he headed for the kitchen. “What were you thinking?”

“I'm thinking that Linden is fifteen,” said Peri darkly, “and that Rob had better watch his step. But aside from that—what are you doing?”

Timothy dropped his wallet on the counter; then he picked up the telephone receiver and started pressing buttons.

“I'm calling home,” he said.

My heartfelt thanks to my agents, Josh and Tracey Adams, and to my editors, Catherine Onder at HarperCollins US and Sarah Lilly at Orchard Books UK, for their support and guidance. I am also indebted to my Canadian publicist Melissa Zilberberg for all her hard work on my behalf.

I am grateful to Claudia Gray, who helped me brainstorm and refine the plot in its earliest stages; to my crack beta-reading team of Liz Barr, Brittany Harrison, Meg Burden, Saundra Mitchell, Kerrie Mills, Erin Fitzgerald, Teri (Krenek) Guill, Emily Bytheway, and Sylvia Thomas; and also to the 2009 Debs aka the Feast of Awesome, for helping me sail the choppy waters of publication.

This book demanded a considerable amount of research, and I would have been lost without the help of the kind folks on District Dave's London Underground Forum (subwayrail, stuartpalmer, Colin, underground gal, solidbond, Dmitri, and Sean B.), who advised me on mechanical and security issues related to the Tube; as well as Tumwijuke Mutambuka and Carlo Kutesa, who graciously answered my questions about life in Kampala and corrected some of my more egregious misapprehensions. Any errors that remain are my fault, not theirs.

And finally, to my dear friend Judy who helps keep me healthy and sane; my wonderful husband and boys who put up with my crazed scribbling at all hours of the day and night; and my wise, godly, and supportive parents who have always made me proud to have been, however briefly, a “missionary kid”—I love you all.