Reckonings

by Carla Jablonski

  “The child was not meant to live,” Titania argued, ignoring Amadan’s counterarguments. “I was betrayed by that nurse of yours. She was supposed to have killed him at birth. Obviously, she did not.”

  “You should be grateful,” Amadan said, “for the sake of all Faerie. Tamlin brought the boy here and fulfilled the prophecy that a child of his would save this realm. What would have happened if the child had not survived his first few days of life?”

  Titania shuddered with irritation. Why is Amadan pressing this point? Why does he insist on my gratitude to the child who created an irreparable rift between me and Tamlin even before he was born?

  A nagging voice in her head told her this was not strictly true. There had been differences between Titania and Tamlin far earlier that had already begun to rend them apart. It hurt too much to think of her own culpability in their separation, so she focused her anger on Tim.

  “He should not exist,” she growled.

  “His life force is strong,” Amadan observed. “Schemes and battles and the dreaded manticore could not kill him.”

  “He does have power,” Titania acknowledged. “Perhaps great power.” She stopped pacing and crossed her arms over her chest, gazing unseeing across her lands. Her eyes narrowed. “Why is he here?”

  Amadan fluttered after her and landed on the low marble wall that ran the length of the portico. “Could he be here to claim rights to the kingdom?” he suggested, peering up at the Queen. “He is your son, and he has saved the lands; he might want a place at court. There is no other heir, as far as we know.”

  “Auberon may have something to say about that,” Titania responded tartly. “The line is determined through the father.”

  Amadan cocked his head. “Has Auberon changed toward you since discovering your…indiscretion?”

  “Not at all,” Titania replied, “much to my surprise.”

  Titania had expected dire consequences when she had to admit that she was Tim’s mother: furious accusations, scenes, and arguments. But there was a single conversation. Auberon had simply stated, “So you lied. Your child was not stillborn. The child I had thought was mine.”

  “That is correct,” Titania had replied. “But when I discovered the child was half human, I gave him to the midwife to be rid of him. I had no idea the child was still living.”

  “Why would you think that this Timothy Hunter was that child?” Auberon asked.

  “I didn’t. Not when I first met him. It was Tamlin who made me realize the connection.”

  “Tamlin told you Timothy was your son?” Auberon asked.

  “The child saved Faerie!” Titania snapped in exasperation, wanting the conversation to be over. “Who else could he be? And look at his power!”

  That had ended the conversation, and since then Auberon had not said a word. If anything, he seemed amused by Timothy’s existence.

  She shook her head, perplexed. “Auberon has changed since his time among the Earth folk.”

  She knew she was taking a risk confiding in Amadan, but where else could she turn? When Titania had first met the flitling, his sharp features and sharper tongue had been a source of amusement and often strategic counsel. He had a keen eye for what was hidden and was a clever, often wicked, observer of the fancies and foibles of the courtiers. But lately she found his cleverness too acid and his pointy face hard.

  This is what I am reduced to. Spilling out my concerns to this scheming jester. She recalled the days when she herself had slipped into the mortal realm seeking solace and escape. It isn’t the burden of the glamour-filled Faerie, she suddenly understood, but the position of ruler that created such distance between her and all others. Auberon and I should be turning to each other. We are all we have. Perhaps she could make him see that, if her husband would only stay by her side long enough. As long as Timothy Hunter didn’t interfere.

  “The delights of Faerie seem only to annoy or weary Auberon,” Titania said wistfully. “This dissatisfaction was already present in him, but it has grown much worse lately.”

  “Yes,” Amadan said. “King Auberon has been leaving the realm regularly. Perhaps one day he won’t return.”

  Titania bent down to glare at Amadan directly. “Shall I have your tongue cut out?”

  “No, no,” Amadan said hastily, bowing and scraping on the wall. “I meant no disrespect. Of course Auberon would never seek to leave you. And his disappearance is not an event we would ever hope would come to pass.”

  “Remember who is the ruler here, Amadan,” Titania warned.

  “If Auberon stays away more than he stays home, wouldn’t that ruler be you alone?”

  Titania glared at Amadan’s too-innocent expression and knew that he had an agenda here. For some reason, he felt he’d benefit if Titania were the sole ruler of Faerie.

  The flitling was moving into dangerous territory, but at the moment Titania was not in the mood to challenge him. “You don’t understand a woman’s heart.” Titania sighed. “I don’t want to win the kingdom only to lose the King.”

  “Not any more, you mean,” Amadan said. “Since you’ve lost Tamlin.”

  “That is quite enough from you!” Insolence such as this could not be tolerated. She raised a hand, ready to remove his mouth or spell him into oblivion.

  Amadan fluttered to a nearby tree branch. “We were talking about the boy’s motives,” he said hastily. “Until he moves, we will not know. My counsel is to watch and be wary. He may turn out to be an important ally. Or a treacherous enemy.”

  Titania nodded slowly. The boy is either very brave or very foolish coming here, she thought. Was he testing her strength and power against his own? Or was he simply a boy, wanting to see the woman who claimed to be his mother? She shook her head bitterly. Mother. Hah! She could see Tamlin’s fiery defiance in Timothy Hunter, yet nothing of herself. All she did see was danger.

  Chapter Eleven

  MOLLY KNEW THE INSTANT she opened her eyes that she wasn’t in London; not even close. She and Auberon stood on a flowery hilltop under a tree bearing completely unfamiliar fruit. The sky above them was a bright royal blue, uninterrupted by the jagged skyline of London or the moody twilight she had left at Leanan Hill. A shining palace, colorful banners flying from its turrets, rose majestically above a crystalline blue lake. Lilting music floated on the fragrant breeze, as courtiers strolled on the lawn, playing unusual instruments. It was a beautiful sight, and it made Molly sick.

  “You tricked me!” Molly O’Reilly fumed at the King of Faerie. “You told me you’d bring me to Tim!”

  “I have,” Auberon said. “The boy you seek is here. Welcome to Faerie.”

  Molly’s stomach tightened as she put it all together. Tim had returned to Faerie. Probably to talk to the green meanie herself, Queen Titania—the woman who claimed to be his real mom. It all fit with what Marya had told her in the letter—about Tim’s confusion, about his overhearing their conversation. Poor Tim. He must be really upset if he’s voluntarily sought out Titania. She’s never been anything but terrible to him. Molly felt worse when she realized she was part of the reason he’d taken this step.

  Then her stomach lurched completely as she connected the rest of the dots. If Tim is here, Auberon lived up to his end of the bargain. Which meant Molly would have to do the same. She’d have to stay here in Faerie. Forever.

  “Can this week get any worse?” she wailed. “First pink dinosaurs kidnap me. Then I’m grounded and forbidden to see Tim. Next thing you know, I’m packed off to the remote wilderness with my loony gran. And now—I’m trapped forever in stinking fairyland.” She kicked a rock, which turned out to be some kind of hedgehog thing with wings. It unfurled and fluttered away.

  “There are those who find the delights of Faerie enchanting,” Auberon said, “its beauty, its sport, its riches.”

  “If you think it’s so great, then why do you keep coming back to our world?” Molly challenged.

  Auberon smiled. “You have me there, child. Yo
u have a clear eye.” He sighed. “You see, I have grown weary of this existence.”

  “So you figured you’d trap me in it, too,” Molly said.

  “You entered into the bargain of your own free will,” Auberon countered. “I gave you very clear terms. You could have said no.”

  “I know.” Molly sighed. “Tim warned me that things get all screwy with magical people. He wasn’t kidding.”

  Auberon strode a few steps down the hill. “Look at those Fair Folk. Forever at play. Their petty intrigues, their beguiling glamours. Pah! They play at life itself.”

  “Which brings me back to my point,” Molly said, chilled by the King’s obvious distaste for his own world. “You’re going to keep me a prisoner here, in a place you hate.”

  “Ahhh, there you are wrong.” Auberon turned slowly and faced her. “I have a deep love for this world. It is in my soul. I am tired of what it has become. Or perhaps it is simply that, since my travels to your realm, I now recognize the difference between authentic experience and one shielded by magic.”

  He lifted Molly’s chin with his blue finger. “I believe you can help me. You have fire. You are honest. I can see that. Perhaps we can reintroduce the raw, wild spirit that began this world.”

  He turned and gazed at the castle again. “Once, the Fair Folk were more like the Elementals,” he explained. “We had the passion of Fire, the inspiration of Air, the moody power of Water, and the solidity of eon-forged Earth. But we grew afraid of our own untamed nature and domesticated it, submerging it beneath prettiness and complicated rules and feuds.”

  “Blah, blah, blah,” Molly said. “So you’re bored. And you’re discouraged by your own evolution. Not my problem. My problem is Tim.”

  Auberon’s eyes narrowed, and Molly saw anger flash across his face. “You are insolent.”

  Molly shrugged. She was already trapped in a magical world forever. What did she have to lose?

  “Hey, you claim you want what’s real and what’s raw,” Molly pointed out. “Happy to oblige. So listen up: You promised to take me to Tim and I don’t see him anywhere around here. So if you won’t keep your end of the bargain, I don’t have to live up to mine.”

  “Not so fast, small one.” Auberon held up a warning finger. “Your young man is in this world, believe me. He is on his way to the Queen. I—I don’t choose to see her at the moment.”

  Molly smirked. The powerful king was nervous about seeing his wife. “Yeah, you two don’t exactly seem to have the greatest marriage,” she said. “You need to go on the Jerry Springer show or something to work it out.” Molly laughed. “I think I’d actually tune in to that episode!”

  “You have the capacity to amuse yourself, I see,” Auberon said dryly.

  “Well, Big Blue, you could begin by not taking yourself so seriously.”

  “Big Blue,” Auberon repeated, a slow grin spreading across his face. “I like that.”

  We’re wasting time, Molly thought. “Look. If you don’t want to see the Queen, think about how much harder it must be for Tim, who she positively despises. I really need to see him. I think he’s in danger here.”

  “Yes, she is dangerous,” Auberon admitted. “Your Tim has greatly displeased her simply by existing.”

  “I know,” Molly said. “Tim’s in no shape to handle any more family drama. He’s already had more than his share.”

  “You have great compassion,” Auberon observed.

  “For Tim? Of course I do,” Molly said. “Don’t you people care about each other here?”

  “You may find the Fair Folk a bit more concerned about themselves than others,” Auberon said. “The ability to feel other people’s pain, or joy or fear, is perhaps the human quality I envy most.”

  “It must be a very lonely way to live,” Molly said. “No wonder you sneak off every chance you get. And now I get to spend the rest of my life with a bunch of selfish, self-centered magical types?”

  “I will protect you here, Molly,” Auberon promised. “You can teach me much, I believe.”

  “Yeah, but what do I get in the bargain?”

  “You get to stay alive.”

  “Oh, right. That.” Molly crossed her arms. “Well, I’m not talking anymore until I see Tim.”

  Tim climbed onto a boulder, pulling his feet free from the soggy muck that was supposed to be a path. “Maybe I should have used a more scientific method of choosing a direction than spinning around,” he mused. It had seemed pretty promising at first: The path led through a pretty grove beside a river, and he’d managed to avoid meeting any weird creatures along the way. But then it had quickly turned into a swampy, boggy mess.

  His first guide through Faerie had warned him never to leave a path once you started on it. So Tim wasn’t going to risk it—he’d found out the hard way the dangers of doing that! “But what if being on the path is worse than no path at all?” he moaned. His sneakers squished, the bottom of his jeans were muddy, and the overhanging trees and thick brush made it impossible to see where he was headed.

  The whole time his butterfly tattoo burned and tickled and stung. Which was totally weird, because Tim wasn’t feeling too much of anything—other than impatience with all the mud. It was as if the area he was in activated the butterfly somehow. “Now that idea does make me nervous,” Tim admitted. “You never know what kind of mind twister you’re going to come across in these magical realms.”

  Titania leaned back in her throne, a smile spreading across her green face. The image of Tim faded from the sphere floating in front of her. Silly boy, she thought. You have made things quite easy for me. You have put yourself on a very convenient path—a path I can work my magic on even at this distance. All the elements already exist in the Murky Wood that I need to keep you from ever arriving at my castle.

  She tapped the tips of her fingers together, thinking, planning. “I wish I knew what you wanted,” she murmured, her eyes narrowing. “Very well. I’ll give you someone to talk to. Someone you can explain yourself to.” She laughed a low, throaty laugh. “And if your companion breaks your heart, and your resolve, then so be it!”

  She beckoned the sphere back to her and gazed deeply into it. She waited until Tim’s image appeared clearly inside the glowing orb. “Yes,” she intoned. “Just stay on that path. Someone will join you soon enough.”

  Tim perched glumly on the mossy rock. He ignored the dampness of his seat, just like he ignored his wet socks. He focused instead on the fact that he was lost. He had no idea anymore which way he had come. There were multiple paths leading from this boulder.

  “I swear the trees move around while I’m not looking,” he muttered.

  A cracking branch alerted him that someone—or something—was approaching. That’s strange, Tim realized. Normally I’d have some reaction, like ‘oohhh here comes trouble,’ or ‘oh joy, help is on the way.’ But instead, nothing. Tim bit his lip, considering this change in his personality. The answer dawned on him: The tattoo must be doing its emotion-flattening work.

  Tim turned to see who was emerging from the thick woods. His stomach lurched and the tattoo went into overdrive, stinging and burning him. His eyes widened and filled with tears—from the awful pain of the tattoo as well as from the shocking sight.

  Tamlin stood in front of him. Tamlin—as he had looked just before he died, sacrificing himself so that Tim could live.

  “My son,” Tamlin rasped.

  Tim’s eyes flicked back to the ground. He couldn’t bear to look at the tortured body, the contorted face, the stringy hair, all indicating the agony of death. Tamlin had been a powerful, swashbuckling figure when they had first met. To see him now, like this, was awful.

  “My son, what are you doing here? Why have you come?”

  Tim couldn’t speak, couldn’t look up. Could only sit still, fighting against the pain from the tattoo and his confusion.

  “Talk to me. Tell me—what do you hope to find in this land?”

  Tim forced himself to fac
e the man. The high cheekbones created deep hollows, making Tamlin’s once handsome face skull-like. “Is this…is this place for the dead?” Tim asked. If that’s true, then, boy, did I pick the wrong path!

  “This is just Faerie,” Tamlin said. “You came here on purpose. I want to understand why.”

  Tim’s heart pounded hard. Could I have been wrong? he wondered. Is it possible Tamlin survived? If that’s true…

  A sense of relief flooded through Tim. If Tamlin hadn’t died, Tim could find the answers to all of his tortuous questions right here. Right now. Without ever having to face Titania. He would be able to ask his real father all about his origins, his past, and maybe what to expect in the future. Most important, the burden of guilt over Tamlin’s death would be lifted. They could finally truly know each other.

  He had to find out for sure.

  “I’m sorry, but I have to ask you this,” Tim said. “Aren’t you, uhm, dead?”

  Tamlin swayed a bit, and Tim rushed forward to steady his father. He tried to hide his horror as he touched the cold, paper-thin skin of the man’s hand.

  “What do you seek here, son?” Tamlin asked again.

  “How can you be here talking to me?” Tim asked, wondering why Tamlin hadn’t answered his question. A terrible thought occurred to him. “Am I—am I dead, too?”

  “Do you feel dead?” Tamlin asked.

  “I—I don’t feel much of anything at the moment,” Tim admitted.

  “Why are you here?” Tamlin asked again.

  Why does he keep asking me that? Tim thought. Is he concerned something is wrong in Faerie again? “Don’t worry,” Tim assured the man. “The manticore hasn’t come back or anything.” The manticore was the creature that Tim had killed in order to save Faerie.

  Tamlin stared at Tim. “The manticore,” he repeated.

  Uh-oh. Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned the manticore, since the manticore’s venom is what killed Tamlin.