The pile of stones shifted as the snake slithered out. Timothy held himself very still. He had nowhere to go. No way to move fast in all the debris. He sat up slowly, shedding rocks and dust. The snake was still within striking distance. Timothy grabbed the largest rock he could hold and stood.
Immediately, the snake’s full attention was riveted on Timothy. The serpent drew back. Its mouth gaped open, two white fangs poised like gatekeepers. Timothy drew back his arm, prepared to release the rock. But what he saw was not the snake’s head. Instead, it was the face of the ginger-haired boy. Tam.
Timothy’s mind whirred. Pictures flashed. He saw things he’d never witnessed, knowledge passed from the guardians: Balor walking with a dark-haired girl called Morgan; Tam, bewitched by the same dark-haired girl that he now knew as one of the sídhe, but a malign one. He saw the girl whisper plans into Tam’s ear, and the boy’s outline grew fainter. And he knew the boy’s name, a name now told in legend: Tam Lin, the boy enchanted by the queen of the fairies.
Then Timothy recalled his own memories: Tam bumping into Jessica on the icy sidewalk, and Jessica’s laugh when Tam asked her for her phone number; Tam at Nessa Daring’s house, the room thick with glamour.
The snake moved to strike. With the rock still clutched in his hand, Timothy spoke. He called the boy by name. “Tam Lin,” he said, and the snake froze, mid-strike. What was left of the boy inside the creature trembled at his true name.
“There is still time,” Timothy whispered. “Balor is not true. The sídhe, the fairy girl Morgan, works with him.”
The boy in the snake shrank smaller. Almost nothing of him remained.
The snake hissed. From outside the fogou, a whistle split the air. The effect on the snake was immediate. Its body dropped as if all the fight had leaked out of it. Timothy remained frozen, rock in hand. The snake glided past him in the direction from which it had initially come. Slowly, Timothy exhaled. Why was the snake retreating? As the snake slithered through the dust and rubble of the fogou, Timothy trailed behind, just out of striking distance. It was that or stay in the partially collapsed fogou. The snake was his chance of finding a way out.
Crawling now where fallen stones made the passage narrow, Timothy tried not to panic. He thought of math, he thought of codes, anything but the dark, close space around him. Gradually more light filtered into the darkness, a dim light filled with particles of dust. Timothy coughed and scrubbed the dust from his face. He stood at a crouch. With each step, his breath whistled and wheezed. His lungs screamed for fresh air. He wanted to see Jessica and Sarah. And that wanting was stronger than anything he had ever felt before.
Light! It pierced the dimness, forcing Timothy to blink. Overhead was a narrow opening in the ceiling of the tunnel. He couldn’t tell if it was the hole he had fallen through. It didn’t matter. It was a way out. The snake slid over the rubble and debris, wound its way up toward the narrow opening, and disappeared into the light.
Timothy climbed onto a loose pile of rocks. The hole, just within reach when he extended his arms, looked large enough to wedge his shoulders through. He took great gulps of fresh air, grabbed on to the loose soil, and tried to pull himself up. His fingers curled into wet soil aboveground. But his arms weren’t strong enough to lift his body out. He braced a leg against the rock wall and tried again. Damp, cool air bathed his face. But before he could clear the opening, his foot slipped, sending down a shower of small stones. He dropped back into the fogou.
Winded, he looked up at the small patch of light. “Help!” he called. His arms shook.
A voice answered. Someone was right outside! Again he braced a leg on the rock wall and pulled himself up. This time his head and shoulders cleared the opening.
Strong, sinewy arms grabbed Timothy and pulled him the rest of the way out. He blinked in the foggy light, wiping the dust from his eyes.
Timothy stared into the face of a girl with eyes like black full moons.
“Who are you?”
In response, her fingers dug into his arms, and one strong hand encircled his throat. As she pressed on his windpipe, he struggled for air. A small whistle hung from her neck. Had it produced the sound that had summoned the snake?
“I have you now, stone seeker.”
The snake was coiled around the girl’s legs, like a dog at the feet of its master. Her face was close enough that Timothy could feel the puff of air each word made against his face. “Where is it?” she asked in a voice as thin and sharp as a cold wind.
Timothy tried to make sense of the scene before him. And then he remembered: She was a friend of Balor, one of the sídhe—but, unlike Finula’s, her heart was dark. The long history of the Daoine sídhe spread out before him like a road he had traveled. Their love for the world, the mountains, hills, and streams, their distrust of man and the great sadness that filled them as the number of humans increased and their own numbers decreased. He knew all this as quickly as a thought.
The girl continued to stare at him, unblinking, her black eyes wide and flat. “I have come to take what my people should have been given, even if I must kill to get it.” He also knew exactly what she wanted: the Stone of Destiny, the one thing he couldn’t give her, for he had no idea where it was anymore.
The girl’s pale lips almost touched him now. Timothy could smell her breath, mossy and damp like the forest floor. Her death-cold fingers loosened on his throat. “I can suck the air from you in one breath. I can freeze your heart until it stops beating. Once we have the Stone of Destiny, we will diminish no more. Men will not rule. You will tell me where the stone is.”
Old lore, knowledge long forgotten, bloomed in his mind. Iron could overcome the sídhe, but he had none. Even his small flashlight had been lost in the collapse of the fogue. Where was Jessica? Sarah?
Timothy’s head tumbled with images he had never known before. Most of all, he knew he should be afraid. The snake’s body slithered over his shoes. This time no words surfaced in Timothy’s mind to save him. The girl pressed her lips to his face. Cold peeled the flesh from his cheek. Timothy writhed in agony. She covered his lips, sucking the air from his lungs. He sputtered. He had no breath to call for help.
But help came. It came through the fog. The shape that emerged was not the Greenman, or Cerridwyn, or even Gwydon, but Sarah. And she held a terrible spear. Behind her emerged the shadowed figure of a stag bearing two shapes on its back.
The Spear of Lugh. The bits of history that mysteriously floated in his brain arranged themselves into an order. The spear in Sarah’s hand was another of the four treasures of Ireland kept safe by the sídhe through the long ages.
At the sight of the spear, the dark-haired girl hissed. She drew her lips from Timothy, but she did not loosen her grip. He sputtered for air, as if he had just risen from a lake with his lungs full of water. His cheek burned.
The sídhe spoke to the rider on the stag. “Would my own sister use this spear against me? Would you be traitor to our race?”
Finula answered from the back of the stag. “It is you, Morgan, who is the traitor. Our race was never promised immortality in this world. These lands, these hills, belong to the race of mortals. You have aligned yourself with a lie. The stone is for the Filidh.”
“Sister, you are the fool. Man isn’t fit to be a caretaker of the earth. His time will pass, and we will remain.” Almost delicately, Morgan’s fingers stroked Timothy’s face, and each stroke seared his flesh.
“It’s too late. The new Filidh has been chosen.” McMorn’s voice rang out across the hill. In his hand was a sword, the Claíomh Solais, Sword of Victory, which once belonged to Nuada, a great warrior of Ireland who lost his hand in battle. Even as Timothy recognized the sword, cold crept down his neck and toward his heart, while Morgan’s fingers continued to stroke his skin.
“Not too late, if he dies.” Morgan’s hair brushed Timothy’s face, one hand still on his throat. The snake, now doubled in size, tightened around his legs as a blast of wind sli
ced through the fog.
THE HUNT RETURNS
IMOTHY HEARD CRIES in the distance. At first they sounded like the far-off call of geese, but quickly they grew loud enough to be recognized as the baying of hounds. The hounds came swiftly, with a terrible baying in the milky white sky. He turned his face skyward.
Again McMorn’s voice rang out. “The Wild Hunt rides. And the hounds seek out a traitor.”
Finula also looked skyward and then turned her gaze toward her sister. “Morgan, the Wild Hunt rides out of season for only one purpose, to seek a traitor. But there may still be time to redeem yourself.”
But Morgan’s face remained set.
A thunderclap punctuated Finula’s words. Hounds bayed overhead and broke through the fog. Morgan dropped Timothy to the ground. The hounds descended in a wild clashing of teeth. Their baying was deafening. Behind them on a dark horse rode Herne. He lifted a brass hunting horn to his lips and blew. The note was as fearsome as the baying of the hounds. Timothy covered his ears. Morgan, stumbling, began to run over the hummocky ground. The lead dog descended with its teeth bared. Even through covered ears, Timothy heard Jessica cry out. He lifted his eyes. With a great snapping the hound had Morgan by one arm and lifted her from the ground. She managed to wrench herself free and lurch a few more paces, her arm hanging at a strange angle. Then the hounds were upon her again and carried her off into the air.
“Timothy, look out!” Jessica shrilled.
The snake tightened its thick, scaled body around his legs, making it impossible for him to move. The terrible mouth opened wide. Its head drew back to strike. This time Timothy saw no trace of Tam at all, only snake.
McMorn stepped forward, but from behind, steel whistled by Timothy’s ear. Sarah had plunged the Spear of Lugh into the open mouth of the serpent. She then thrust it upward, the blue blade exiting through the top of the snake’s skull. Timothy fell to his side as the snake unwound itself. It thrashed. The body flailed back and forth. As its mighty length beat the ground, Dunsinane shook, but the spear stuck fast in the snake’s head. Thick mucus drained from the open mouth. Sarah fell to her knees. The reptile twitched and was still.
With a long shudder Finula spoke in a voice hollowed with pain. “It is done. There are laws that cannot be broken.” For a long moment no one spoke. Finula looked into the distance. “Once, Morgan was brighter than the North Star, more joyful than a summer afternoon. My sister, firstborn. Balor promised her immortality; she gained death.” The sound of her wail pierced the fog, and the fog split until they could glimpse the sky. The wind answered with its own voice.
Timothy threw his arms protectively around his sister as she sat sobbing in a weary heap. “It wasn’t just a snake. It was Tam, and I—”
“There was nothing left of Tam. He was consumed. Sarah, you saved me and destroyed only what was already lost.”
Jessica, wrapped in McMorn’s long coat, dropped from the stag’s back and joined Timothy and Sarah. “Look.”
McMorn turned. Timothy, one arm still around his sister, looked up. There on the treeless hill stood a man, and by his side was Star Girl. As he moved closer, Timothy could see that the man wore a loose coat with many pockets, a coat Timothy had seen once before, when a stranger had entered his house to gather whatever lamplight he could. He remembered the man’s words: “The light will draw him to me.” The man’s face was pale, but his eyes were eyes Timothy could not mistake. He stood in his pauper’s coat next to Finula as she grieved, and the voice that filled Dunsinane Hill was a voice Timothy would always know: the voice of the Greenman. It was full and strong, and as he spoke, the last of the fog turned to tatters, and the tatters faded. “I am sorry. Morgan was made for better things.”
“Greenman? Is that you?” Sarah’s voice was still thick with tears.
“Yes, child. But it is the time of my waning. When spring comes, I will again be as you knew me, part man, mostly tree.” He drew her to her feet, and Sarah buried her face against his chest.
Electra spoke. “I have witnessed a change in history. The coming of the new Filidh.”
Finula turned to Timothy. “Today we have honored an old alliance made when men were caretakers of the earth, to stand with humans against the Dark.”
The stag bowed low, and she climbed onto his back. Longing pierced Timothy as he watched the stag bear the sídhe down the hillside. It was like losing the memory of a song he loved.
The Greenman stood by his side. “You have the knowledge of the Filidh. You are the keeper of the word and memories. The stories and histories have passed from the Stone of Destiny to you, just as they have done to all true Filidhean throughout history.”
Timothy looked down at his torn jeans and gingerly touched his scarred cheek.
“He doesn’t look different at all to me,” Sarah said.
“Very little of who we truly are shows on the outside.” The Greenman turned to the lifeless snake. “Tam Lin looked like a boy for a while and then like a snake, when no boy remained.” With a jerk he withdrew the spear from the snake, wiping its blade on the thin grass.
“But what happened to Tam?” Jessica asked in a small voice.
“Morgan’s accomplice? Morgan enchanted him to help her,” the Greenman answered. “Surely you’ve heard the stories of the sídhe enchanting humans? Tam was beguiled by Morgan, and soon there was none of his true self left. Not all the Fairy Folk honor the old alliances. There are those who have sided with Balor and seek to destroy man. Morgan and Tam failed in their task. Balor will try another avenue.”
Brian McMorn had walked a short distance away from the group and stood looking down from Dunsinane to the valleys beyond. He didn’t turn when the Greenman spoke.
Timothy felt a cold deeper than the surrounding damp wash through him. Why did McMorn keep his distance and not acknowledge the Greenman?
“Despite our mourning, this is also a time of celebration. Today there is a new Filidh among us. The Stone of Destiny has spoken, and its voice has been witnessed.” The Greenman bowed toward Electra.
Timothy noticed a wolf bounding up the hill with two hikers close behind: a young man with a walking stick, long hair peeking out from under a deerstalker cap, and on his arm a woman, Nessa Daring.
The Greenman’s next words rang across Dunsinane. “It is time we returned to the Market.”
THE FILIDH RETURNS
T THE THOUGHT of returning to the Travelers’ Market, Timothy’s heart surged. He could picture the bright caravans, the jugglers, people he had come to know as friends.
The Greenman, Nessa, Julian, McMorn, and Gwydon drew close around the three children. Timothy felt Gwydon’s wet nose against the back of his hand. He was pressed shoulder to shoulder with Sarah and Jessica, and somehow Jessica’s cold, small hand found its way into his. Timothy grabbed Sarah’s hand, too. Every time they had traveled before, there had been a portway, but where was it here?
The Greenman spoke. “This hill contains a portway that is older than Macbeth’s fortress, one that has been used for time out of time. But we will not all travel together. There is one among us who may not come.”
Puzzled, Timothy looked at the Greenman and then from face to face.
“I’ll wait here for the children to return and then see them home.” McMorn stepped back from the circle. He slipped the sword back under his coat.
The Greenman led them to the largest of the cupped stones. “We must each place a hand on the stone.”
Timothy noticed that Julian hung back to speak with McMorn. Why wasn’t McMorn coming, and why was he keeping himself apart from the group? As he watched, McMorn handed the sword to Julian.
Jessica’s hand tightened in his grip. He placed his other hand on the cold, rough surface of stone. Julian returned and reached out to touch the stone just as the familiar lurch began. It started somewhere deep in Timothy’s gut and radiated out toward his fingers and toes. The world readjusted, as if he were caught inside a kaleidoscope.
They landed with a very real thump on a wooden dais. Timothy looked out over a sea of expectant faces. Beyond the farthest heads, he caught glimpses of wagons and twinkling lights. They stood on a raised platform at the edge of a forest. New snow, like fine lace, draped ash and fir trees.
Jessica squeezed his hand. Timothy glanced at her, then looked again. Her mud-spattered jeans were gone. They had been replaced by a long purple skirt made of a velvety fabric and a short cape of the same. Her curls were caught up in a silver net, and the ruby necklace sparkled at her throat. It was a Jessica he hadn’t seen in a very long time, as if the girl she truly was had stepped out through her skin. He shot a glance at Sarah, who also had undergone a transformation. She wore a garment made, it seemed, from the blue of her eyes. Her blond hair was studded with pearls and wound in a braid around her head. She looked so beautiful and so fierce, so grown-up, that Timothy had to look away.
Half afraid he would still be in his mud-soaked pants, Timothy looked down. His pants were a soft green, and his wet sneakers were replaced by pale leather boots. Standing a little taller, he tried to pick out individual faces in the crowd, but the folk of the Market were difficult to recognize under stocking caps and shawls. Finally, his gaze settled on a familiar face, Fiona, Peter’s mother. But where was Peter?
The sound of approaching footsteps on the dais made Timothy turn his head. A tall, rangy boy approached. He smiled from ear to ear with the delight of someone meeting long-lost friends. In a familiar gesture, he rubbed one finger down the side of his nose. Timothy felt Sarah stiffen by his side.
Peter looked older than just a few months should account for. Suddenly Sarah had no words. Everything she could think to say fled.
“Peter!” Jessica rushed forward and threw her arms around him.
He hugged her and then turned and grabbed Timothy’s hands in both of his.
Still, Sarah hung back. She didn’t know where to look. She felt color flame in her face.
Time out of Time Page 23
