“You find the Chronicles,” Firin Reaghan whispered, taking Malachi by the shoulders. “I’ll stay with this one in the shadows until it’s clear.”
Peter had barely had time to nod before the firin and the boy disappeared. And it was a good thing. For no sooner had he resumed walking when he heard an Oof!
“Oh! Please, forgive me. I didn’t see you.” He bent quickly and picked up the short man, whom he had apparently knocked over, placing him back on his feet. His help only seemed to raise the little man’s ire, though, as he dusted himself off and proceeded to glare at Peter with a near-comical intensity
“You won’t see anything walking about with your nose in the air like that.” The man adjusted his spectacles and tweaked the corner of his mustache with such disdain that Peter had to keep himself from laughing.
“Again, I apologize,” he said instead. “I’ve never seen anything this magnificent.” He looked back up at the countless rows and shelves of books. “Why is it so empty in here?” If he’d known about this place from the beginning, Katy would have had to drag him out forcefully. Not to mention, he probably wouldn't have annoyed so many people with his constant questions because he would have been busy getting answers.
Also, the stuffed shelves would have made for a fantastic place to steal a kiss.
The man snorted and went back to righting his cart of books. “If you think the kings and princes and fairies around here care about reading, you’re sorely mistaken.” He tripped on his long robe slightly as he resumed his walk.
“Wait.” Peter began to follow him. “Are you a firin?”
“That term has little meaning anymore, boy.”
“But most of the people on these isles believe in Atharo, yes?”
“That he exists. Anything more than that…” He shrugged.
“Well, where could I find the original writings of Atharo?”
A strange look crossed the man’s face, but he didn’t stop or even glance up at Peter. “The Chronicles? Now, what would a wise prince like you want with something dry like that?”
“Maybe this prince doesn’t think himself so wise?”
The firin gave a long sigh. “Look, I’m a very busy man. I’ll see what I can find, and if I do, I’ll send for you later, Prince…”
“Peter. Of the Third Isle.” Didn’t this man ever leave the annals? Peter could hardly venture out to relieve himself without getting stares the entire way.
Also, he didn’t believe a word the man said. What firin didn’t know where Atharo’s sacred texts were?
Before Peter could follow him and argue further, however, a whisper caught his attention. He looked around for a moment, expecting Firin Reaghan. Instead, however, he spotted a woman in a light cloak motioning him to come toward her. Curious, he obeyed.
She put her finger up to her lips and turned, beckoning him to follow. They walked silently toward the back of the annals until they came to a corner with a dusty table. It smelled of must and old parchment, and the chair she motioned for him to sit in nearly made him sneeze. But all of his trepidations disappeared as she flitted out of the corner and then returned with a brown leather book with yellowing, uneven pages.
Peter felt his mouth fall open at the size of the tome. “Is this—”
“It is.” She stroked the corner of the book. Her voice was low and smooth, and the reverence in her tone was thick. “I’m not supposed to know where this is, but…” She shrugged and gave him an impish grin.
Peter tried to get a better view of his helper. In the shadows, she looked older than him, but not by much. Maybe ten years at most. Her hair was the color of honey, pulled up in a messy knot at the back of her head. Her robin’s egg robe was the same rough material as Firin Reaghan’s, though lighter in color, and like him, she wore the hood down.
“I’m sorry,” Peter said quietly so as not to get her in trouble with the short firin, “but you are…”
“Oh,” she pushed her spectacles farther up her nose and gave him an easy grin. “I’m Erin. And I’m a kahain.” Peter must have looked confused because she gave a little laugh. “It’s a female servant of Atharo. We don’t share the same responsibilities as the firins, but we have our own ways of serving.” She nodded at the book. “For example, I bring knowledge to those who seek. Literally. I get it off the shelf and hand it to them.” She chuckled then sighed. “Not that there are many.”
Peter jerked his chin back in the direction they’d come from. “It doesn’t seem as though he would approve of you doing your duty.”
“No, but I have taken the vows, so he cannot outright forbid me. He merely likes to try and make it difficult.” She wrinkled her nose. “For example, this particular book seems to move around the annals of its own accord often enough. Thankfully, Firin Irven has a terrible cough, so it’s easy to hear him whenever he’s finding a new spot to hide it.” She gave him a mischievous grin. Then she tilted her head and studied him. “I must admit, I’m more than a little curious to see you here. Few rhins—”
A rustle sounded on the next aisle over. Erin stiffened.
But it was only Peter’s friends. “They’re with me,” Peter whispered as Firin Reaghan stepped out of the shadows.
For a moment, she looked as though she might be about to argue. But after looking back down at him and then at the Chronicles, she simply nodded. “Just stay quiet. Firin Irven usually takes his nap in a half an hour, so you should have a good two hours uninterrupted after that.” She looked pointedly down at the ancient book resting under Peter’s hands. “I hope you find what you’re looking for,” she said in a whisper. “Someone ought to.” And with that, she walked off.
As soon as she was gone, Firin Reaghan and Malachi stepped out from the shadows. Malachi was staring after Erin, but Firin Reaghan was staring down at the book. His hands trembled as he gently picked it up.
“I was sure I would die without seeing this with my own two eyes,” he whispered, a tear running down his face. Then he looked at Peter, his eyes shining. “Thank you, Peter. I cannot thank you enough.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” Peter pulled over two more dusty chairs for the firin and Malachi. “You don’t know what’s in it.”
“I know enough.” The firin laid the book back down and ran the tips of his fingers over the aged leather.
“There must be a reason the people don’t have access to this,” Peter said as he sat down again.
“Truth is incendiary, Peter,” the firin said as he positioned the book between them. “If you want to quench zeal, all you must do is water down the truth.”
Peter took a deep breath and opened to the first page. I’m here, Atharo, he prayed silently. Show me what I need to know. Then he began to read.
These are the writings of Atharo, gifted to the children of the High King. Blessings are for the soul who reads aloud the words of this prophecy. Curses for he who hides them from the hungry and keeps them from those who thirst. Peace for the one who takes them to mind and soul. Fear for the one who breaks them. These words are not for the faint of heart.
14
A Harder Wood
Katy looked in her mirror and tried unsuccessfully to tug the skirt so that it reached past her knees. After spending three days in Winter, longer than they had originally planned thanks to Katy’s inability to do anything right, they were finally moving to Spring, and Katy had been informed she would need lighter clothes. Then they had given her these.
“You’re sure this won’t make the men…” She felt a blush rise to her face as she thought of what even sensible Muirin might say of clothes like this.
“Won’t make them what?” Nikki giggled. “Stop doing that. You’re going to tear the skirt.”
“What is this made of again?”
“Tree bark. The weavers strip the bark from trees, rub them with sharp rocks until they’re soft, then strip apart the fibers to weave into cloth. Here.” She lifted the corner of Katy’s skirt, which had a surprising number of pleats.
“See these little bumps?”
Katy nodded.
“These are seeds. After we get caught in a storm, they’ll start to sprout, and pretty soon you’ll be wearing blossoms.” She beamed. “Then, when you find flowers you want to add, all you have to do is tuck them into the fibers, and they’ll sprout once they get wet.”
Katy stared at the little pattern of bumps in awe. She hadn’t even noticed them at first. The brown earthy fabric was soft, and yet it had a distinctly…raw feel. Katy fidgeted again as she stared into the mirror. As if the short skirt wasn’t shocking enough, her shirt was quite fitted, and its sleeves were mere ribbons of green strips of leaves that hung over her shoulders. Everything else was…bare.
“But you’re sure the men won’t stare?”
“You’ll melt if you’re outside in human clothes all morning. Spring isn’t as hot as Summer, but petticoats will make you feel like it is.
“Why do you wear the human clothes then? To the summit, I mean?”
Nikki picked a little leaf off of her own skirt. “Our clothes make the humans uncomfortable. Besides.” She looked up at Katy. “Would the men looking at you be a bad thing?”
Katy nearly asked if she was being sarcastic, but when she looked again, Nikki appeared genuinely curious.
“I’ve already got a man.” Katy laughed nervously. “I don’t need any more.”
“No one will think it odd.” Donella glided into Katy’s room and smiled at the girls in the mirror. “Peter’s courtiers might stare, of course. But fae men have no reason to pay you undue attention. They’ve seen this kind of clothing their entire lives. Their own mothers and sisters wear it.” She paused and pulled Katy’s hair out of the quick knot Katy had thrown it up into that morning. Her dark tresses spilled down her shoulders, chest, and back. “I will say, however,” Donella said with a smile, “that you are quite lovely.” She tilted her head. “It suits you.”
Katy blushed and hurried to gather her other things. If she was honest, the fae clothes were beautiful, delicate in a way she’d never thought clothing could be. But for some reason, guilt made her heart stumble whenever she thought of what Peter might say.
She wasn’t worried that he wouldn’t like the clothes. On the contrary, he would probably like them a little too much. She’d never expected him to see this much skin until after they were married. But these clothes weren’t for him, and he definitely wouldn’t be the only one to see them.
Donella, who seemed completely unaware of Katy’s argument with herself, went to the door and held it open. “Come! The sun will be rising at any moment!”
“Will I have a chance to see Peter today?”
“I’m afraid not. But tomorrow we will rest before moving on to Summer. You can see him then.”
Katy yawned and nodded. She was still no fonder of early rising after four days of doing so. When Nikki had burst into her room that morning, however, and announced that it was time to show the world some skin, Katy had awakened quite quickly. Now that she knew that she wasn’t going to be traipsing around the isle completely without apparel, she was actually quite excited to see how much cooler life would be without the layers of petticoats and skirts that she had grown accustomed to.
***
Three hours later, Katy wiped the sweat from her forehead with her forearm and frowned at the long piece of birch wood she was holding. “What exactly is this for again?” And how was it so hot already? It couldn’t be past the tenth hour, and she was already longing to take a swim in the nearest pond she could find.
“We use wands to focus and magnify our gifts.” Oonagh pursed her lips and toyed with a ringlet of her strawberry hair. “What exactly is your gift?”
“My gift?” Katy echoed.
“Knowing your gift will help me decide what kind of wand to craft for you.” Though her tone said she would like to do anything but craft Katy a wand. Her wayward glance at a nearby pile of unfinished wands confirmed that.
Katy sighed. How the entire fae population didn’t know of her gift by now was completely beyond her. “I’m not sure.”
“Pardon?” Oonagh’s hand froze halfway through her hair.
Katy closed her eyes. “I break things or set them on fire. I can make plants grow faster, and I can make objects disintegrate. Four days ago, I made a meadow in Winter look like Spring.” She shifted to her other leg as she looked at the ground. “This morning, I made a patch of pumpkins ripen.” Not that she had done it on purpose.
Oonagh’s hazel eyes somehow widened even more. “In Spring?” Then she looked at Donella, who stood several feet behind her. “How do you expect me to—”
“How about you give her one of the practice wands,” Donella said gently.
“Perhaps try several different kinds,” Jagan added from behind Donella, his hand pausing where he’d been scribbling something furiously on a piece of parchment he carried. “We can see which works better for her.”
“Different kinds?” Katy asked as Oonagh began to rifle through the pile of unfinished wands, perfectly straight sticks about the length of Katy’s forearm, some half-covered with intricate carvings while others were half-covered in a shiny polish.
“No one knows precisely why,” Donella said, “but some fairies work better with hardwoods, like walnut or hickory. Others, such as Nikki, use softwoods.”
“They’re faster than the hardwoods.” Nikki nodded and grinned. “But not quite as strong.”
“My personal favorite is teak,” Jagan stood up straighter. “It’s one of the hardest woods of all.”
“Is it now?” Donella gave him a small smile. “I thought I spotted you using redwood this morning.”
“Both are useful for different purposes.” Jagan buried his nose in the stack of parchments again, and Donella laughed.
Oonagh went to the back of her little tent and opened a small chest. After rummaging about for a minute or so, she held up five wands. Unlike the ones she’d been working on when their little party had arrived, these were simple, the width of her thumb at the bottom and tapering down to a point at their tops. They were carved with five sides and devoid of the intricate swirls and patterns she’d been carving into the others.
“Here,” Oonagh said, holding them out to Katy. “These are training wands. They’ll magnify your power, but not as much as your final wand will. Try them all, then come back and tell me what feels best to you.”
“How long will it take to make my wand?” Katy asked, carefully taking them in her hands.
Oonagh grimaced. “I’m already behind, but I’ll do my best to get it done for you before the summit comes to an end.” She wiped her hands on her dirty apron. “Only make sure you notify me within the hour. I’ve got at least six more wands to finish before I can begin yours.”
Katy agreed and thanked her before she let Donella and the others lead her away.
“I hope I didn’t inconvenience her too much,” Katy thought aloud as she walked. “Was she with us in Winter?”
“No,” Jagan said, finally tucking the parchment in his shirt and stowing the quill behind his ear. “Oonagh’s gift is an unusual one. There are very few fairies with the ability to make wands. It takes a tremendous amount of skill, and there are a number of trees that only grow on this isle, and only in Spring and Summer. She comes every year but rarely visits any of the sessions or celebrations.”
In silence, they walked over a few little hills to a taller one at the edge of a valley. As usual, several fairies flew above and behind their little party. There was always curiosity where Katy was involved. Katy silently thanked Atharo that her friends were willing to walk for her sake, though it couldn’t have been comfortable in the direct heat of the day to take so long to go anywhere. Then something caught her eye.
“Are those farmers?” She pointed to a field over the next hill.
Jagan nodded. “The villagers who live here cultivate Spring and Summer all year to provide for themselves, the summit, and isles who are in dire ne
ed of aid.”
“If the isles are beginning to lose their food supply,” Katy wondered aloud, “then what about this isle?” She squinted at them in the sunlight. “Their crops look good from here.”
“Unfortunately, while this isle has maintained its beauty and power more than any of the others,” Jagan said with a sad smile, “even it is beginning to see decay.”
“Which is all the more reason to find our future king. Now here, this will do.” Donella spoke, her serious tone cutting off all the questions Katy still wanted to ask. Instead, she followed as Donella ushered them up to the edge of the hilltop.
Katy wriggled her neck and arms to loosen them before going to stand before Jagan, who was holding out the practice wands. She studied them. Their colors varied between nearly black, red-brown, light brown, gray, and almost a bone white.
“Go ahead and feel each of them,” he said. “You can try with each one before making up your mind. And if none of these feel right, we’ll go back and try some more.”
“If, however,” Donella said, “you’re concerned that your gift is too strong, use the soft wood. It works quickly, as Nikki said, but it holds less power.”
Katy rested her hand on the red-brown wand for a moment before moving it to the white, and instantly she felt better. The bone white wood seemed softer, less frightening. She took the white wand and examined it closely.
“What exactly am I supposed to be doing with this?”
“Wands focus our gifts so we can use our power more effectively,” Donella said as Katy ran her hand up and down the smooth sides. “It also helps us to sense where other sources of magic are.”
Katy thought for a moment. “Peter was always able to sense me. Even as children, he said he could feel me whenever he got near.”
Donella nodded. “If that’ so, it means Peter’s magic must run strong in his blood even compared to the other rhins. Similarly, this wand will help you recognize power and help you tap into that power should you need to. For example…” Donella pulled her own wand from her belt and aimed it down the hill on which they stood. “Do you see those purple flowers down there?”
The Autumn Fairy of Ages Page 14
