“What happens if the Starfire loses its potency?” Hilde asked.
“It can’t. It is eternal. As long as the sun rises and sets, the Starfire sustains faeries.”
“How big?” Little John asked. His chest heaved with strain at carrying the extra burden of his passengers. His speed suffered, and the distance seemed to increase with each step.
“As tall as that tree.” Bracken pointed to a sapling not much taller than Robin the Archer. “And as broad as that boulder.”
“About as big as me,” Little John said. He wondered how rugged the stone, or stones, might be. Would it fragment into the many tinier stones and lose its power?
“I guess,” Bracken said. “I have heard that it is fragile, a crystal, or perhaps a gem. If you strike it just right with an iron tool, it will shatter into its smaller parts. No faery can handle iron without burning up, so the stone will remain forever.”
Little John sensed movement above him, Hilde and Nick shifting positions to look at each other.
“What are you thinking, children?” he asked them.
“We can handle iron,” Nick spoke for both of them.
“Do we need to destroy the faeries?” Little John asked. He paused a moment to breathe deeply, as much to replenish his body as to think.
“If it becomes a choice between rescuing Jane or letting the faeries live?” Nick asked.
His voice held undertones of Tuck when he waxed philosophical. But he also heard hints of Elena in the phrasing of the question.
Little John had no defense against the two. “Jane must come first. Whatever we must do to rescue my lady love. She has been a slave to faeries and their illusions too long.”
“If you destroy Queen Mab, the rest of the faeries will be able to take a bit of the Starfire with them and leave the Mound,” Bracken mused. “Kill our evil queen, and you will free my people along with your lady, Little John.”
“Agreed,” Robin added coming abreast of them. He wore his gnome guise tonight so he could access Forest magic, taking long bouncing steps to match the Green Man. “Would that I could rescue my own love,” Robin muttered to himself.
But Little John heard his lament.
“We will find her,” Little John reassured him. “We will help you break the curse.”
A trilling note from a bird flying overhead, undoubtedly Will Scarlett, echoed the sentiment.
Then, as if conjured by his own longing, the Faery Mound loomed ahead of them, no more than half a mile distant.
The horizon cut the moon in two, half showing big and bright, half still hiding beneath the edge of the land.
A few more long steps and Little John bent double so Hilde and Nick could disembark.
“Where’s the door?” Nick asked, looking at the folds of the steep hill for an imperfection or opening in the turf.
Little John looked more closely at the greenery pouring down over a rock wall. He reached out with his forest senses to caress and mold these plants into his domain.
Nothing. They did not react to his mastery. It was as if they did not truly exist or had no reason to acknowledge his existence.
“You are part of my dominion!” he commanded with voice and magic.
“Elena says to look through her eyes and not your own,” Tuck said. He reached out and tried to push the vines and ferns aside. They did not move. Then he jerked back his hand, sucking on red burn marks across his palm and fingers.
“Help me, Elena,” Little John pleaded, opening himself to her presence. One blink, then two more in rapid succession. The plants faded, became transparent. He saw through the illusion to an arched wooden door banded with iron. The portal was almost as tall and broad as himself. But the metal bands crisscrossed stout wooden planks so tightly he could touch the wood with only one fingertip. And that was uncomfortably warm.
“This door was put in place by mortal men and ensorcelled to keep the faeries in, and people out,” Tuck said in disgust.
“What good does it do if there are other portals known to the faeries so that they come and go at will?” Nick asked.
“Because the wizards and sheriffs of old only saw this one portal, they presumed it was the only one,” Robin replied. He stretched and grew back into his human guise. His hand came within inches of the iron before he jerked it away. “Sorry. My curse rides close enough to the surface that I, too, am poisoned by iron.” He bowed his head and backed away.
They looked to Bracken, his wings drooping, and his knees sagging. “This portal was designed to keep me and my kind away from humans. I cannot penetrate it.”
“And the other openings?” Little John demanded. He balled his fist, not certain if he wanted to hit the frail faery, or just give him a good shake until his pointy little teeth rattled and his uptilted eyes crossed.
“Only Queen Mab can see them from the outside. And they were designed for faeries with wings to fly in and out; they are placed in the roof of the mound. To enter from the outside means a fall to the death for humans. Thrice the height of the tallest tree in the forest.”
Little John and Tuck turned to look at Nick and Hilde.
Hilde shook her head and bowed her head. “I have encountered a door ensorcelled to never open and had no luck in finding a way to remove the magic.”
Nick shrugged and approached the door. He ran his hands over the breadth of it. “I can’t find a lock by sight or touch.”
Little John nearly wept. The moon rose higher, a full hand’s width above the horizon. He had to get through this portal now—or once again he would lose his chance to rescue Jane.
* * *
Jane left the wounded faery sulking in the small chamber. He kept the cold cloth pressed against his cheek, as much to absorb his tears as to soothe the wound. She had no trouble passing through the door. She had not been exiled by Queen Mab. In the great hall, a buzz of noise, like a swarm of enraged honeybees, greeted her.
All around her, faeries bounced and flew, high and low, across the vast distance and close at hand. They moved so swiftly, in convoluted patterns, she had trouble tracking the path of any one of them. Colors blinked from drab to vibrant and back again. They looked more like insects flitting in and out of moonbeams than the creatures she had come to know for however long she’d been enslaved by them.
“What is happening?” She couldn’t remember seeing this level of . . . of panic among them.
Deliberately, she turned her gaze to the crack in the far wall that led to the Starfire stone. The illusion was still in place, so she had to squint and peer at it from different angles to see more than just a line in the dressed stone blocks and beautiful tapestries—which she now knew to also be illusions. The opening glowed faintly, as if the sunlight touching the stone radiated far beyond the twists and turns of the entrance.
Alarmed, she checked the openings in the ceiling. Thick darkness covered them.
But wait! A bit of silver, like a full moon reflecting on a still pond, glimmered around the edges. This was different. Something new.
She needed a break in the routine to aid in her escape. This might be a natural time for her to simply walk out.
Cautiously, she made her way to her stool and the never-ending pile of mending. She pretended to sift through the lovely fabrics magically dyed unusual colors as if looking for the next task. Instead, she sought one swath of gold gauze shot with silver threads. She’d embedded her broken silver needle into the weave. Now she needed the clumsier iron needle as well. Either could be a weapon against the fae.
“Are you looking for this?” Queen Mab stood in front of her, holding up a square of sturdy brown wool with the iron needle tucked through the threads.
“Why, yes, Your Majesty. I need it to finish the torn hem on the golden gown,” Jane replied demurely.
“Liar!” the Faery Queen screeched. “On this most important nig
ht of the century, you need this for only one thing. It is the only tool in all of Faery that can shatter the Starfire. Your lover already beats at our door to try to rescue you. You need this to destroy me. But I shall destroy you first.”
The queen snaked out a skeletal hand, barely covered in flesh, and tangled her twiggy fingers into Jane’s hair. All trace of illusion vanished in the wake of Mab’s anger.
With a painful jerk and twist, they rose into the air. The queen’s powerful wings took them high, higher, higher.
Jane clawed at Mab’s hands, trying to break the scalp-wrenching pain of being dragged by her hair. Upward, ever upward. Dizziness swamped her as the ground, solid and safe, retreated beneath them.
And still her head screamed with pain. Her stomach lurched with unease.
Harder than ever before, she tried to make the illusion of limp wings on her back become real. Anything to break the queen’s grip on her hair.
Jane’s imaginary wings sagged. Useless.
Thirty
Little John’s desperation leaked into Nick. He tried again to find some imperfection in the ironbound door. Something, anything, that might indicate a way to open it.
The blacksmith who’d fashioned the intricate ironwork and fixed it into the door had been an excellent craftsman, blending wood and metal seamlessly flush against each other. The pattern of the sinuous bands of iron reminded him of the circled cross at the crossroads. The sorcerer who’d sealed the faeries inside had also known his business. Not a speck of rust marred or weakened the surface, despite the passage of time. Hundreds of years? Thousands?
“Silly boys, why not let the goddess of sorcery open an ensorcelled doorway?” Elena asked on a chuckle. “Nick, may I leave your protection for a bit?”
“Yes, my lady. Do as you must.” Nick felt the lurch and sudden lightening of the near-constant weight in his sleeve. An emptiness opened in his gut and at his nape. He bit his lip to ease the sudden ache and stepped away from the door. He bowed respectfully to the column of mist that took on the vague shape of a lady clad in the draperies akin to an idealized Roman figure.
“I’ve learned to trust you, my lady. Now I must learn to trust myself and not call you back until you are ready.”
“I never had the courage to grant her free rein,” Tuck murmured. “I was too afraid of losing her completely and forever.” He hung his head in shame. In that moment of vulnerability his visage showed more of his real age than Nick had ever seen of the seemingly ageless man possessed of many lifetimes of wisdom.
Elena coalesced into a solid personality. “This is so much easier with all of you to help.” Elena brought her hands together and bowed to each member of the little troupe. “Now, Master Bard,” she called, lifting her face to the sky. “I have need of a strong marching cadence. The sorcerer was of a military bent and used strong rhythms to create the seal.”
An overly large red bird wearing a miniature red cocked hat dropped from the sky, growing and stretching into the form of Will Scarlett even as his wings spread to become arms and his feet grabbed the ground for balance. He produced a small skin drum, about the size of Nick’s head, from his pack and began a catchy beat that made Nick’s feet itch to march.
Hilde bunched her skirts to lift them above her feet as she shuffled in place, smiling.
Only Tuck’s hands on her and Nick’s shoulders settled them. “Best not to become too enthralled by magical music. You would become its captive and dance away until you died of exhaustion or starvation,” the old man said. He shifted his weight from foot to foot as well.
Nick sobered and ceased moving his feet.
Elena lifted her face again, eyes closed. Moonlight bathed her in silver glory. She glowed from within as well as without. Her lips moved in silent incantation.
Misty bits flew away from her, circling and twisting around her no longer substantial body. Her silver gown floated, stirred by a celestial wind that Nick could neither see nor feel.
“Archer, prepare your bow.”
Were those words or merely a sigh on the evening breeze?
Robin raised his bow and drew back the string, arrow nocked and ready.
“More.”
The muscles and cords in Robin’s neck stood out with the strain of pulling the string to his ear and a bit more. Elena became an ill-defined vapor once more, turned darker, became almost solid as she formed herself into a flint-barbed shaft, then wove herself into and around the real arrow already aligned with the bow.
“Now,” Elena commanded. Robin released the string. It snapped forward propelling the arrow with supernatural force. Elena dove into and through the door, her chiming laughter overriding the military rhythm coming from the drum. Will Scarlett froze in place, hand above the resounding stretched hide.
Nick couldn’t tell if the bard lifted his hand away from the last beat or prepared to strike the next.
A loud creak drew the gazes of all of them toward the door.
Slowly, groaning with each half inch of movement, it opened outward, hinges protesting and hillside resisting.
Elena drifted through the narrow opening, still more mist than person. “You’ll have to do the rest, now that I’ve finished the hard work.” She sounded winded, much less lively and amused than before.
“You are welcome to rest within your pitcher, lady goddess,” Nick said.
Thank you, she whispered into his mind. A faint passage of cool air caressed his cheek and a familiar pressure at the base of his neck told him she resided where she needed to be, ready to rouse from slumber if he required guidance, grateful for the rest if not.
Little John shoved and heaved at the door, careful to keep his bare hands away from the ironwork, until it opened wide enough to admit his own massive body.
Bracken and Hilde ran forward, squeezing past the door before any of the others could take a single step.
Will Scarlett and Robin moved cautiously. Will transformed his drum into a small harp, fingers poised over the strings for whatever chord he might need. Robin nocked another arrow, bowstring partially taut.
“Wait!” Nick protested. He elbowed aside Will and Robin, staying hard on Hilde’s heels, and stopped short.
* * *
“Nice guards, gentle guards,” Hilde crooned to the tall muscular faeries, each carrying a bronze sword as long as she was tall.
“Illusion,” Bracken whispered to her. “Don’t trust your eyes for anything.” He pressed a dry and withered leaf of devil’s milk into her hand.
She stared at it. She knew the flowers would ward off spells and curses, sending them back to the hex caster. But the leaves? She had to trust the faery who risked everything to help them tonight.
Even if the three guards were not as strong as they looked, they had barbs and knife-sharp edges on their thistle-shaped wings and unwelcoming glints in their squinty eyes. She gulped and wished Dom was there instead of her, or at least whispering advice and reassurance into her ear.
If only the faeries were small and gentle like rabbits or chickens that she could calm into acceptance of their imminent death. Though rabbits could kick and chickens scratch if she wasn’t quick enough with her songs. She had to accept her talent for what it was, magic. Not just tricks. Magic.
And if she had magic, then she belonged with the Woodwose who lived with magic and magical creatures all around them day after day.
Already the guards looked a little cross-eyed and blinked rapidly as if they couldn’t concentrate on the intruders.
Nick skidded to a halt behind her. “The berries. Offer them the berries,” he said, panting and gulping air as if he’d run a great distance.
Gathering her courage, she withdrew three small leaf-wrapped packets from the pocket within her sleeves. “Lovely berries. Fresh berries. First of the season,” she continued her lilting chant. “All for you. Guards need to keep up their
strength.” She’d liberally mixed the berries with dried and ground cocklebur to induce sleep.
“Take them. A special offering from one who loves and admires the faeries. You have nothing to fear from me,” she sang in the same special cadence as she had hummed Mammoch to sleep.
The first of the guards reached out a hand to take one of the open packets. His hand did not reach far enough, as if he ran out of energy or resolve.
Hilde stepped forward and held her breath. Too close. Too close to dart away if they should grab her. She forced herself to maintain eye contact with her prey, humming her calming litany all the while.
She pushed the first packet into his outstretched hand. He raised it to his mouth and gobbled the half dozen berries. Before he had time to react, Bracken whisked the other two packets into the hands of the remaining guards. They, too, gobbled the food.
Immediately, their eyes rolled up, and they slumped to the floor snoring. The illusion of strength and height faded until they were no larger than Hilde herself. Their swords were merely long blades of river grass—they still had sharp edges that could slice unwary fingers. And their wicked-looking wings became gray-and-brown butterfly appendages with soft, round edges.
Nick hugged her shoulders. “Thank you,” he said.
She leaned into him, grateful for his gentle support when her knees turned to water in relief at the success of her bold scheme.
* * *
“Lead on,” Little John gestured for Bracken to proceed into the main cave.
Walk the Wild With Me Page 23
