Blythewood

by kindle@abovethetreeline. com

  “At your service,” he said, saluting and attempting to click his heels even though he was barefoot. “I assume from your Bell and Feather insignias that you are members of the Order. May I ask who is in charge of this expedition?”

  Nathan and I stared at each other, but Miss Sharp stepped forward and returned Sir Malmsbury’s salute. “That would be me, sir. Vionetta Sharp. I teach English literature at Blythewood.”

  “Ah, Blythewood . . . ” he said with a misty look in his eyes. “I had a most promising student at Blythewood . . . but no matter . . . we don’t have much time. I observed the boy enter Faerie and engage with the girls. He hasn’t taken part in her game or eaten anything, so he may leave.”

  “I won’t go without Louisa,” Nathan growled.

  “So I understood. Admirable of you, son. I myself would never abandon a team member in the field. Luckily, I have been carefully observing the customs of the country during my . . . er . . . sojourn here in Faerie.” He took out a worn notebook from his canvas bag. “With the help of the lychnobious people, who have been most kind considering my past unfortunate treatment of them, I have learned that the feathers of the lychnobia protect the unwary traveler from becoming trapped in Faerie. I gave this young lady a feather as soon as she arrived.”

  We all looked down at Louisa and saw that she was wearing a necklace of brightly colored feathers.

  “So she can leave?” Nathan asked.

  “Yes,” Sir Malmsbury replied. “However, I cannot vouch for the time shift that may have occurred during her—or your—stay here. The lychnobia have a poor sense of time.”

  A lampsprite landed on Sir Malmsbury’s shoulder, flicked its wing across his face, and chattered angrily.

  “Excuse me,” Sir Malmsbury said, looking quite abashed, “I was guilty once again of a hominid-centrist judgment. The lampsprite’s sense of time is different from ours.”

  “But that’s all right!” I cried. “Raven is holding open the door for us. He said that we’ll be able to return to our time as long as a Darkling holds open the door.”

  “A Darkling is holding the door open for you?” Sir Malmsbury asked in awed tones. “Why, then, this is my chance to go back! We must all go at once!”

  Nathan grabbed Louisa’s hand and tried to pull her up, but she screamed and clutched the cards to her chest.

  “I know something that might help,” my mother said. She knelt down beside Louisa and gently laid her hands over Louisa’s. Louisa looked up, her eyes vague and clouded. “There’s another game we used to play at Blythewood,” she said to Louisa. “Perhaps you remember it? It’s called flush and trophies.”

  A flicker of recognition passed over the girl’s face. “Oh yes, we played it after dinner in the Commons Room . . . only I don’t recall the rules . . .”

  “But I do,” my mother said with the same gentle smile she’d given me when I was frustrated that I’d forgotten a tense in Latin or a stitch for trimming a hat.

  “And so do I,” Vionetta said, sitting down next to Louisa and reaching for the cards laid out on the rock. Louisa flinched when Vionetta swept the cards up into a pile, but Nathan quickly diverted her.

  “Flush and trophies! My favorite!” Nathan said with false enthusiasm; I was quite sure he loathed the game. “We all four can play.”

  “I thought we weren’t supposed to play any games in Faerie,” I whispered into Miss Sharp’s ear as I sat down.

  “All except this one,” she replied as my mother dealt out the whole deck to Louisa, Nathan, Miss Sharp and me. “Flush and trophies was designed to break the spell of Faerie.” “The game is quite simple,” my mother was explaining to Louisa. “The object is to get all of one suit—hearts, clubs, spades, or diamonds. The trick is figuring out which suit your opponent is trying for—to flush them out, so to speak—and keep them from getting all of their suit before you can claim the trophy. Each turn you discard a card. If anyone has the same card in a different suit they can trade it for you. Vionetta, you’re north. You go first.”

  Miss Sharp laid out a two of clubs. I had a two of hearts, but I’d already noticed that I had more hearts than any other suit so I didn’t offer to trade. Louisa would have beat me to it anyway. She slapped down a two of spades.

  “She’s looking for clubs,” my mother whispered in my ear. “All we have to do now is keep feeding them to her.”

  Nathan obligingly laid down a queen of clubs next. Louisa made a face. She must not have any queens. It was my turn next. I laid down a jack of clubs. Louisa immediately reached for it, but Miss Sharp deftly knocked the card off the rock. It fluttered over the grass like a butterfly. Louisa sprung to her feet and went after it. Nathan and Miss Sharp got up and followed her, cards in hand. I followed with my mother and Sir Malmsbury. The rest was simple. All we had to do was keep laying out clubs and tossing them closer to the place where Raven was holding open the door.

  “But you’re not playing!” I said to my mother as we got closer. “Can’t we use the game to free you, too?”

  My mother regarded me sadly. She brushed back a lock of my hair and cupped my face with her hand. “Avie, dearling, I died in your world. A Darkling carried me here to Faerie because I wanted to come here instead of the mortal afterworld. But I can never go back to your world.”

  “Of course you wanted to come here,” I said. “It’s so beautiful! Can’t I stay here with you? There’s nothing for me back there.”

  A faint smile fluttered over her lips. “Nothing? Look . . .”

  Nathan and Louisa had reached Raven, who still stood like a marble statue holding open the door to our world—only the marble was streaked with veins of fire now. He looked like the lampsprite had just before it exploded. His eyes were still shut, his jaw clenched, the muscles in his arms and chest straining like Atlas holding up the world. “It looks as if the light is crushing him!”

  “It is,” my mother replied. “A Darkling can only hold the door between worlds open for so long before he’s crushed between them. This one must care for you greatly to do this for you, Ava.”

  “Then Ava was telling the truth, Evangeline?” Miss Sharp asked my mother. “The Darklings aren’t evil?”

  My mother shook her head sadly, her eyes still on Raven. “The Darklings are cursed, but no, not evil. You can trust them, especially this one. But he’s not the only one who cares for you.”

  She nodded her head toward Nathan, who was holding Louisa’s hand with one of his and an ace of clubs in the other. All he had to do now was lead her under Raven’s wings back into our world, but he had turned and was looking back at me. The light behind him turned his fair hair into a golden halo. He looked more like one of the Botticelli angels than dark-haired Raven, but the light also threw his face in shadow. The tenebrae still lurked under his skin.

  “Nathan doesn’t care for me,” I said.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that. But what I am sure of is that without you the shadows will claim him forever. So unless you care nothing for him . . .”

  I shook my head, my body denying the statement before my mind knew what I felt. “I can’t be the only one who can help him.”

  “Avie, all the years the shadows preyed on me, the one thing that kept them from claiming me was you. I had only to think of you and I was able to fight them off—until the end when I knew I had to sacrifice myself to save you. The only thing that gave me solace as I died was that you would be strong enough to go on without me . . .”

  I began to object but she held up a hand to silence me. “You have no idea how strong you are, Avie. You’re a chime child . . . and so much more! With training you, and you alone, will be able to banish the shadows—from Nathan and from your world.”

  I looked away from my mother to the two men who stood on the threshold of my world. One light, one dark . . . I wasn’t sure which was which, only that both would perish if I didn’t go back.

  I turned to my mother. I could see by her face that she already knew what my d
ecision was.

  “Will you be all right here?” I asked.

  “I will be now. Now that I have seen that you are,” she replied, wiping the tears from my face. Then, before I could change my mind, I turned and ducked under Raven’s wing.

  36

  AS SOON AS we had all passed through, Raven collapsed on the ground, his wings crumpling around him like charred paper. When I touched them my hands came away black. His face was gray as ash, soot-black lashes fluttering over sightless eyes.

  “I didn’t know it would hurt him like this!” I cried. “What can we do to help him?”

  “There’s nothing we can do,” Sir Malmsbury said, “but his own kind can help him. Look: they’re waiting for us to leave to take care of him.”

  I looked up into the trees to where Sir Malmsbury was pointing. At first I didn’t see anything, only pockets of shadows in the pines, but then as my eyes adjusted to the dimmer light of this world, I made out the shapes of winged figures perched in the trees. An old man, two old women, a young girl, many young men . . . all their eyes trained on Raven. His flock.

  “Can you help him?” I cried. My voice sounded hoarse as a crow’s caw.

  Wings fluttered in answer. Miss Sharp tugged on my arm. “They won’t come down until we leave. And we need to get Louisa back to the house. She’s not . . . herself yet. If she sees an opening to Faerie she may try to slip into it.”

  442 Blythewood I looked back down at Raven. His eyes fluttered open and seemed to focus on me for a moment. I touched my hand to his cheek. “Thank you,” I said.

  His lips, cracked and seamed with ash, parted. “My . . . pleasure,” he croaked, with a smile that turned into a wince. Then Miss Sharp was pulling me away.

  The Darklings descended as soon as we were out of the clearing. The sound of wings was deafening, a black rain that fell like a curtain between us, obscuring Raven from my view. As if he were being devoured by the dark. How could I leave him to that darkness?

  “Let me go,” I cried, struggling against Miss Sharp’s grip. “You can take Louisa back. Let me stay with him.”

  “I can’t,” she said, taking me by the shoulders and turning me away from the clearing. “Listen.”

  My head was so full of the sound of wings I couldn’t hear anything else, but then I heard it: the bells of Blythewood tolling a peal.

  “It’s the Hunting Peal. Can’t you see how dark it’s gotten? Night is falling. We’ve been in Faerie all day. They’ve called out the Hunt to find us. If we don’t stop them they’ll ravage these woods. In his weakened state Raven won’t be able to escape. He’ll die and his flock will die trying to protect him.”

  I knew she was right, because along with the toll of the Blythewood bells I heard my own bass bell tolling an alarm inside my head. Still, I couldn’t bear to leave Raven. “You can stop them while I warn the Darklings.”

  “They won’t stop the Hunt if any one of us is still in the woods. You have to come with me.”

  I took one look back, but already the woods were too dark to make out the Darklings. Joined with the bells now came the sound of hunting horns. Their blare sent chills rushing down my spine. I wanted to flee from them, but I made myself run toward them with Miss Sharp and Sir Malmsbury. Louisa and Nathan had gone on ahead. “What about Helen and Mr. Bellows?” I cried.

  Miss Sharp turned her head, her eyes flashing in the dark likwe an owl’s. “Perhaps they’re already out . . . look! They are, they’re with the Hunt. Come on, there’s not much time.”

  We’d reached the edge of the woods, where Nathan and Louisa stood. Louisa was pulling on Nathan’s hand, crying and begging to be let go. She was trying to run back into the woods. When I looked out at the lawn I didn’t blame her.

  A wave of fire was rolling across the lawn toward the woods, dark at its base and crested with flame. An unbroken line of black-cloaked figures holding torches strode forward, their steps synchronized to the toll of the bells. With them came a crunching sound, like the surf churning through shells. I recalled a poem we’d read in Miss Sharp’s class that described the surf’s

  melancholy, long, withdrawing roar, Retreating, to the breath

  Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear And naked shingles of the world.

  Only this surf was made up of bows and arrows and swords rustling beneath cloaks. This wave would roll through the woods devouring everything in its path—or it would be destroyed itself. With the hunting lust upon them, the Order of Blythewood would fight to their deaths. I could see now why Dame Beckwith had not ordered a Hunt before this. She knew that she would lose her own teachers and students in the fight.

  “Oh dear,” Sir Malmsbury said, “and I’m covered in lampsprite feathers! Your Dianas and their hawks will tear me limb from limb. Perhaps I should have stayed in Faerie.”

  “Too late for that,” Miss Sharp snapped, pushing Sir Malmsbury forward. “You’ll have to explain what happened. Dame Beckwith will listen to you.”

  “Actually,” Sir Malmsbury replied, hanging back, “India and I never quite saw eye to eye. I’m not sure I’m the best man for the job.”

  Impatient with their argument, I stepped out of the woods and in front of the hunt, my arms spread wide. For a moment I thought they would roll right over me. The faces I saw beneath their hoods were stony, eyes glazed. But then one of the figures cried out.

  “Look, it’s Ava!” The voice was Helen’s. Mr. Bellows was right beside her.

  The line came to a halt and the figure at the center stepped forward holding a torch high in the air. She lowered her hood and I saw that it was Dame Beckwith.

  “You can call off the Hunt!” I cried. “We’re all safe—Miss Sharp and Nathan, and look . . .” I stood aside so Dame Beckwith could see Louisa. “We found Louisa. She was never taken by the Darklings. She had strayed into Faerie, but Nathan found her.” I urged Nathan forward but he was too busy struggling with Louisa to keep her from running back into the woods. Dame Beckwith was staring at Louisa as if unable to believe that it was her daughter. “And we found him,” I continued, “and a Darkling held the door open for us so we wouldn’t get stuck there—”

  I realized my mistake right away. As soon as I mentioned a Darkling another figure stepped forward. I was shocked to see Miss Frost out of bed and seemingly recovered, her only sign of weakness that she was leaning heavily on Sarah Lehman’s arm. “A Darkling helped you?” she shrieked. “That’s impossible! You must have been seduced by the creature.”

  “Euphorbia? Is that Euphorbia Frost’s voice I hear?” Sir Malmsbury stepped out of the shelter of the woods. “My dear, how you’ve . . . er . . . grown up. Do you remember your old teacher?”

  Miss Frost gasped and staggered. Sarah struggled to keep her upright. “Sir Malmsbury? Is it really you?”

  “Yes, dear Euphorbia, it is. I’ve come back from my expedition. And wait until you hear all I’ve learned in the field! I’m afraid my original notions were quite wrong.”

  “You are covered in feathers!” Miss Frost cried, her eyes wide. “It’s just as I suspected—you were taken by Darklings!”

  “No!” Miss Sharp said, stepping in between Miss Frost and Sir Malmsbury. “Can’t you all see, we were wrong about the Darklings. I saw one hold the door open. If he hadn’t, none of us would be here and we would never have gotten Nathan and Louisa back.”

  Dame Beckwith’s eyes flashed over our little group—Nathan still struggling with Louisa, who showed no signs of recognizing her mother; Sir Malmsbury in his feathery attire; Miss Sharp defending the Darklings. When her eyes came back to me she nodded, her decision made.

  “Seize them!” she shouted. “They’re not in their right minds.”

  Robed figures on either side of her stepped forward, two for each of us. Euphorbia Frost dug sharp nails into my arm, her breath reeking of ashes. I flinched away but other hands were waiting for me.

  “Take them back to the castle,” Dame Beckwith ordered our guards when we had b
een corralled. “We will sweep the woods. No matter what the cost, it’s time we destroyed the Darklings once and for all.”

  Miss Frost pushed me forward, her fingernails digging deep into my arm. Sarah’s arm was gentler on my other side, a light weight. I could easily wrench my arm away . . . but then do what? If I could get away, I could run into the forest to warn the Darklings that the Hunt was coming, but how far would I get? The Dianas were arrayed in front of me, bows drawn, arrows nocked, their faces stony, their eyes yellow in the flickering torchlight. I recalled Miss Swift saying that when the Hunt was called the Dianas entered a sort of trance. Their eyes, I saw now, weren’t just yellow from the torchlight; they had become the yellow of their falcons’ eyes—and just as inhuman. If I made a break for the woods I didn’t doubt that they would shoot me. Right now, I wouldn’t be surprised if they flew at me and tore me limb from limb as I’d seen the falcons do to their prey.

  I felt anger bubbling up inside me—for what Dame Beckwith was planning to do to the Darklings, but also for what she’d done to these girls, turning them into hunters and robbing them of their youth and innocence. The anger tingled on my skin, from the nape of my neck, down my shoulder blades, to the tips of my fingers, which were still lightly coated with sprite dust. What had my mother just said to me? Sometimes the hardest thing to do is to remain yourself. My mother had been a Diana. Is that why she had fled Blythewood—because she didn’t want to become a mindless hunter like these girls? The hunter must become the thing she hunts. From the time she fled Blythewood until her death, my mother had been hunted until she was finally caught and killed. Leaving one thing behind. My hand stole into my pocket, unhampered by Sarah’s light touch on my elbow. As soon as I touched the black feather I felt a spark, as if it had come alive.

  I dug my heels in so abruptly that Miss Frost stumbled. At the same time I whipped the feather out of my pocket and brandished it in front of Dame Beckwith and the Dianas. Sparks flew into the air, erupting into firecrackers from sprite dust clinging to the feather, the edges of which began to glow as Raven’s feathers had glowed when he held the door of Faerie open. Thinking about Raven—what he had sacrificed to help me and how he was threatened now—fueled my anger . . . and apparently my magic. The feather glowed like a firebrand. In its light I saw Dame Beckwith’s eyes flare.