Maybe his father was right.
But that didn't settle the matter of the crops. Nor did it resolve the nagging feeling in his stomach that something had changed, something had happened to his father. The last thing Adrian would suffer through was another Fey imprisonment. He had once told Luke that he would die first before going through that again.
Luke put some cheese on the bread and ate standing up. He had so many chores to do and no time to do them. He should have been in the field now, but he was waiting for one of the neighbors to come by.
The Fey frowned on meetings between neighbors, but Luke had found a way around it. He had said he needed help with the farm — which was quite true. The Fey military leader had offered the help of some of his soldiers, but Luke had declined. Years of experience among the Fey had taught him that soldiers were not Domestics. They might listen to instruction and they might even do well, but they wouldn't provide the help he needed.
At least, that was what he told the Fey who came by the farm. The leader, a man about his own age, had shrugged and told Luke that it was fine, he could do what he wanted. But if it looked as if the corn was going to die on the vine, the Fey would send soldiers anyway. The crops were the important thing. The Fey had taken Blue Isle, the leader said, for its abundant riches, and any attempt to sabotage those riches would be seen as treason against the Fey Empire, punishable by death.
Luke was planning treason, but not such a simple and fruitless kind.
The neighbor who was coming today was the last Luke was going to see. He wanted to start a resistance to the Fey, a resistance as subtle and divisive as he could conceive.
The idea came to him when he spoke with the Fey leader. If King Nicholas was alive and in exile, then the Islanders owed it to him to fight. They needed to prevent the Fey from gaining a stronghold on the Isle.
And Luke had a lot of ideas on how to do so.
He was starting by speaking to his neighbors, and telling them his ideas. If one of them turned him over to the Fey, so be it. Then he would at least have tried.
He couldn't have stomached letting the Fey overrun the Isle without trying to fight them.
He finished his lunch and washed it down with more water. He knew that midday was a bad time to see anyone, especially in farm country, but the Fey had forbidden night gatherings. He had to take this time from his own work to see what he could do.
Then he heard a rap on the side door. He turned. His neighbor stood there. Luke hadn't seen him coming, but then, Luke had been looking at the corn, not at the road.
His neighbor Jona was a slender man, a few years younger than Luke's father. He had several children, most of them grown now, and the wiry look of a man who had worked the land all his life.
Luke pulled the door open. "Thanks for coming," he said.
"Make it quick," Jona said. "I have crops to tend."
He came inside anyway. He was covered with dirt and had sweat runnels lining his face. He probably didn't look much different from Luke.
"Water?" Luke asked.
"Please," Jona said. "It's this hot already. The day will be unbearable."
Luke nodded. He dipped another cup in the water pail and handed the cup, dripping, to Jona.
"Have the Fey been to your farm?"
Jona took a long drink, then said, "They have. They want an accounting of all of our yield. They want to know time worked, and the land-use plan. We've never done these things before. I didn't even know what a land-use plan was until I spoke to one of them."
Luke leaned against the counter. His father had built this house with his bare hands. The counters, the cabinets, the woodwork were all additions he made after his Fey captivity, as if being held by them for five years gave him ideas that no Islander had ever had before.
Like a land-use plan.
"One of the Fey told me that King Nicholas might still be alive," Luke said, lowering his voice.
Jona brought his head up. "They told me he was dead."
"They want us to believe that," Luke said. "But my father taught me to speak Fey, and I asked one of them in his own language what happened to the King. He said no one knows exactly. There were rumors that he stabbed the Fey ruler and rode out of the city on a horse."
Jona set his cup down, then he pulled out a stool. "Mind?" he asked, and didn't wait for Luke's response. He sat anyway. "If the King is alive, we have hope," Jona said.
"Even if he isn't, we do," Luke said. "We outnumber them. The Isle was ours for generations."
Their voices had grown even lower. Even though the Fey had been in control of the Isle a very short time, it quickly had become clear what disobeying them would be like. The second night after they had took control of the area, they called a meeting of all the farmers. They had had to watch as the Fey punished two prisoners, and were then told the same punishment would happen to them if they didn't listen to the Fey.
"We outnumber them, but we lack their power," Jona said.
Luke clenched and unclenched his right fist.
Power isn't everything," he said.
"But magick is."
Luke shook his head. He had learned a lot of lessons from the nonmagickal Scavenger. "The Fey believe they're all-powerful, that no one will oppose them. If we do small things to sap their confidence, small raids, small victories, we might be able to gain a foothold in their territory."
"Raids? You're proposing taking them on?"
Luke nodded. "Until we know what happened to King Nicholas or his children. We have an Isle to preserve. Already they're working us harder than we're used to. They talk about land use and high yields because we have to grow ten times the food we've grown before."
"Why?" Jona asked. "We've always had a surplus."
"We have," Luke said, "but the Fey Empire hasn't. You watch. After this year's season, they'll have us grow crops that can travel well. They'll store some and ship the others back to the countries on the Galinas continent. And, if we let the Fey advance from here to Leut, they'll ship our produce to Leut as well."
"We can't support all of that," Jona said.
"Not now, we can't. But the Fey have Domestics who use different farming techniques than we do. They'll change the way things are done here."
Jona frowned. "They said we could keep our land."
"As long as we produced the right amount of food. The amount determined by them."
Jona let out a bit of air. He seemed to grow smaller. "I hadn't thought of that. But they still won't confiscate."
"Scavenger" — Luke spoke the name with trepidation; the neighbors had always been afraid of Scavenger — "said they will confiscate and then force the former owner to work the land anyway. It takes years sometimes and it's done under the guise of a legal transfer. Very few nonmagickal beings can maintain the kind of crop yields the Fey need."
Jona's hand went for his cup. He played with the water beads on the side. "Where is Scavenger?"
"He's with my father and Coulter." Luke couldn't resist a look out the door. The corn swayed in a slight breeze. It stretched for rows and rows, all the work he could never, ever do alone. "They left to fight the Fey two weeks ago and haven't returned."
"Do you think the little bastard killed them?"
"Scavenger?" Luke asked. "He hated the Fey, maybe more than any Islander ever could. No. I don't think he killed them. I think they died fighting the Fey."
There. He had finally spoken the words aloud. And that belief, more than anything, made him want to fight here. He had to preserve something of his father's, even if it was his father's house and lands.
Jona was staring out the door, too. His slender face was almost expressionless. "Died fighting, eh?"
"I don't know. But I haven't heard, and that's what I think. There were so many troops, and my father was going right into them. He'd never allow himself to be captured again."
"I let them come to my door. They knocked so politely, and they told me that Blue Isle was now part of the Fey Empir
e. They told me that I would answer to them now, and that someone would eventually talk to me about my land. They said I would still own the land unless I offended them in some way, according to Fey law. They said the Fey put a great stock in law, and any citizen of the Fey Empire had recourse under that law. Then they thanked me and left."
Luke's mouth was dry. He had heard the same speech. Only he had listened to part of it before he started asking questions. In Fey. They thought then that he was on their side and relaxed a bit with him. And that's when he realized what Scavenger said was true. The best way to conquer a Fey was to conquer his mind.
They weren't used to opposition.
They weren't used to losing. King Nicholas had learned that. Luke's father had learned that. The Fey were always startled by failure. They had no tolerance for it.
It was a way to turn the Fey against themselves.
"I just let them tell me that they were in charge, and I said to my wife, 'I guess it doesn't matter. We never heard from the King anyway,' as if he were supposed to talk to every private citizen. She had left the room. Angry at me, I suppose. Angry at me for not standing up."
Luke had heard variations of this speech all week. Each of his neighbors had been so stunned by the matter-of-fact way the Fey had taken over that they had done nothing.
And, truth be told, there was nothing to do. At least individually.
"You couldn't have stood up," he said. "Not by yourself. None of us can do this by ourselves."
Jona looked at him. The man's eyes were haunted. "What do you propose?"
"I propose that we become model citizens of the Fey Empire by day, and that we try to destroy it at night. They can be surprised, just like we can. They can die just like we can. And they can be demoralized. We did that to them once before. We can do it again."
"We didn't do it," Jona said. "We kept fanning. King Alexander did it. And he's dead."
"Actually, it was King Nicholas and the holy water from the Tabernacle," Luke said. "And there's a good possibility he's not dead. The Fey just want us to believe he's dead. Because if he is, we have nothing to cling to. I think that's the first order of business. We need to make sure the entire Isle knows that the King lives."
"We can't do that and farm too."
"Sure we can," Luke said. "We find excuses to talk to each other, and we spread the word. I found an excuse to talk with you."
Jona's face split into a grin. It transformed him, made him look younger suddenly. "I guess you did," he said. "But your excuse is a real one. You need help farming this place. You can't do it alone."
"I know," Luke said. "I just don't want Fey help."
"What about female help?" Jona asked. "My sons are enough for me. I am able to do even the extra work with them. My daughters know how to work a harvest. They can also plant. I know it's not customary, but — "
"I don't mind working with women," Luke said. He wasn't like the older generation of Islanders. He had seen the Fey when he was young enough for it to make an impression. Women didn't have to do household tasks. They were strong and powerful and could manage difficult tasks like a harvest as well as a man.
"I can't pay much," Luke said. "Mostly in crops."
"They don't need much," Jona said. "I am not doing this to help with your harvest. I'm doing this to keep the Fey off your land. If what you say is true, then we have to keep the Fey away as much as possible. The girls will help with that."
"Thank you," Luke said.
Jona stood. "You know that soon talk won't be enough. We will need to take action."
"I know," Luke said.
"Have you a plan?"
Luke smiled. "I have the beginnings of one."
Jona nodded. "That's more than I had this morning," he said. He grabbed the doorknob. "I will send the girls over as soon as I return."
"Thanks," Luke said again. He eased the door closed and watched as Jona crossed the fields. Then he let out a breath.
He had lied. He didn't have a plan yet. Only an idea. He knew that he had to attack and demoralize the Fey. He just wasn't sure how yet.
But he did know what kind of risk he was willing to take.
His father had been willing to give up everything to keep the Fey from holding Luke prisoner all those years ago. It was time for Luke to pay his father back. It was time to pay the Isle back.
Losing everything was a small sacrifice to get rid of the Fey.
Everything — including his life.
ELEVEN
"I don't want to find him," Arianna said. She pulled her arms tighter, as if she were holding herself.
"You don't know this Gift. He's evil."
Nicholas put a hand on his daughter's back. She was shaking, not so much with cold but with some deep emotion. She was expressing it as petulance, but he suspected something else.
Fear.
Her first encounter with her real brother had terrified her. She had nearly made the largest mistake of her young life, and she had been unwilling to admit it ever since, going to the point of denying that Black Blood fighting Black Blood could cause a problem.
She had nearly killed her own brother, and she said she didn't regret it.
He believed she did.
"Gift is not evil." The Shaman finally turned around on her rock. She was hunched against the cold, her nose red. Her mood had been odd all morning, and Nicholas couldn't quite place the cause of that either. The Visions she'd had?
The ones she wouldn't talk about?
"He hurt Sebastian," Arianna said, her voice quavering.
"He helped Sebastian, child. He was part of Sebastian. There would be no Sebastian without Gift."
"That's not true." Arianna let go of herself and ran her right arm across her nose. She sniffed at the same time.
Nicholas stood very still, listening to the discussion. He had never seen his son as an adult. He remembered the newborn vividly, the baby's small hands, and active mobile mouth. And how, suddenly, the boy had lost interest in everything. He had gone from being a squirming bundle of curiosity to a leaden child, heavy and tired all the time.
Jewel had thought him ill.
Nicholas hadn't known the ways of babies. He hadn't realized what had changed.
What a fool he had been. His daughter and the Shaman had both seen his son, and he never had. He wanted to, and he was ashamed to admit it out loud. Afraid, somehow, that in wanting to see his flesh-and-blood child, he was turning his back on the boy he had raised, his stone-son, the one who had saved his life.
"It is true," the Shaman said softly, gently. She too knew how fragile Arianna was right now. "Your brother, like you, Arianna, is a Visionary. Visionaries can travel Links."
"I know," Arianna said.
"But you've never done it. You don't really know."
"I know," she said, in that tone that brooked no further discussion.
"Well," the Shaman said as if she hadn't heard it, "what you may or may not know is that Visionaries can leave parts of themselves in someone whose Link they have traveled across. But the parts can be autonomous."
"Solanda told me this," Arianna said.
"She did?" Nicholas asked. "Even the leaving of the self?"
"Yes," Arianna said. "You were there."
He was there. He remembered it clearly. He had thought, the way Solanda had described it, that Gift's leaving was accidental.
"Visionaries do this on purpose?" Nicholas asked, deciding to ignore his daughter. "You mean Gift created Sebastian intentionally?"
"No," the Shaman said. "I don't think he did. He was too young. He was using Visionary skills as a child, untutored. That has never happened before among our people. But usually Visionaries do such a thing on purpose. They create a construct in someone's mind. The construct must grow, of course, like your Sebastian did, but over the years, it becomes dominant."
She leaned her head back, sighed, and said, "Haven't you wondered how a Visionary, with no offensive or defensive magick skills, controls t
he entire Fey?"
"Through constructs?" Nicholas asked, horrified. He had visions of none of the Fey controlling their own actions, all being controlled by a Visionary. By the Black King.
"Only in a very few select cases. Usually Enchanters who become unwieldy. They are too valuable to destroy, you know." She sounded as if she were speaking of a horse. "And they all go mad. A wise Visionary will plant a construct in an Enchanter decades before the Enchanter's insanity strikes. For another decade, the construct controls the Enchanter, and keeps the insanity at bay."
"See?" Arianna said softly. "I told you this Gift was evil." Nicholas didn't see the connection at all. "How do you come to that conclusion?" he asked.
"Because he created a construct in Sebastian."
"The construct is Sebastian," the Shaman said. "The boy you love as your brother is part of your real brother, and always has been. Gift is a warm, giving, and compassionate child."
"He's an adult."
"He's still a boy," Nicholas said, remembering what it was like to be eighteen. He thought he had known everything then. He hadn't been quite as impulsive as Arianna, but he had been close. "Even though he doesn't think so."
"You're determined to accept him, aren't you?" Arianna asked.
"He's my son," Nicholas said.
"He's Fey." She spit out the last word.
"No more than you are," the Shaman said.
"Oh, much more," Arianna said. "He was raised by you people. He has all your evil traits."
"Arianna," Nicholas said. "The Shaman has helped us."
"Helped us?" Arianna spread out her hands. "Look at where we are. While the Black King lives in our home, and rules our people."
"We're going to change that," Nicholas said.
"Not with her help, you're not," Arianna said. She narrowed her eyes as she looked at the Shaman. "You were in none of my Visions."
"I know," the Shaman whispered.
Nicholas raised his head. She had hers bowed. His heart started pounding, hard. "Not you too," he said. "I'm not going to lose you too."
She raised her head. "I'm fine, Nicholas."
But she didn't deny it. She didn't say she was going to survive.
The Resistance: The Fourth Book of the Fey (Fey Series) Page 8
