“Seek not to repeat your thoughtless folly!” the Queen answered. “You’ve done enough already; now you shall stay in Faerie. But keep from my sight.”
The Queen turned and swept away. John, staring after her, glimpsed a quick, satisfied smile on the face of one of the Queen’s ladies, but he was still too dazed to wonder much about it.
In deference to his mother’s command, John, too, put on white mourning, though he refused to give up the hope that his brother could be helped. He began spending less time with Hugh; instead, he talked for hours with the physicians, then went to the adepts and the great magicians of the court. He pored over scrolls and tomes from deep in the archives of Faerie. And he became more and more convinced that the solution to Hugh’s difficulty lay outside Faerie, in the mortal world from which the spell had come.
When John sought the Queen, to try once again to persuade her to let him leave Faerie in search of a remedy for Hugh, he discovered that he was barred from her presence. The courtiers and officials were polite; he was, after all, the Queen’s son. Unfortunately, they were also firm. The Queen would not see him, nor would she lift the spell that hid the border of Faerie from him. John must remain in Faerie.
Enraged, John stormed away from the court and back to his brother’s bedside. What he found there was hard to endure. Hugh lay naked beneath the coverlet, for his attendants could no longer fit the linen nightshirts over his enlarged arms and shoulders, and a dark stubble of sprouting fur covered his skin wherever it was visible. His restless tossing was no longer silent; now he made small animallike growling noises, and as he growled his lips curled away from fat, yellow teeth. His nails were black and thick at the ends of stubby, awkward fingers, and the skin on his palms was like black leather. The worst of it was that, despite the mouth and nose that stretched into a narrow snout, despite the sprouting fur and heavy nails, despite all the changes that proclaimed so clearly that this was no longer quite a man, it was still recognizably Hugh who snarled and scratched at the edges of the bed.
John stayed beside Hugh’s bed all night, his expression bleak. At dawn, he slipped quietly away, and returned to his own room on the far side of the palace. He spent an hour in various preparations, then lay down to sleep. At noon he arose and dressed in his finest white doublet and hose. He swung a cloak of white velvet across his shoulder and fastened it with a silver chain. Then he picked up a small sack he had left lying beside his bed and went out of the room. He made his way swiftly through silent halls of alabaster and rose-marble, malachite and jasper. No one saw him leave the palace and disappear into the Faerie forest.
John quickly discovered that grim determination was not enough to defeat a spell set by the Faerie Queen. For two days he marched doggedly up and down and across and through all the places where he knew the passage out of Faerie ought to be, without finding a single trace of it. On the third day, Rosamund and Blanche arrived in Faerie in search of herbs.
John was not immediately aware of their presence, but early in the night, just after Rosamund and Blanche had lain down to sleep, he stumbled across their resting place. He recognized Rosamund at once. He was at first amused by her presence, but when he saw the ring of herbs surrounding the two girls he frowned. The spell affecting Hugh had come from mortal lands, and it was plain that these two mortals knew far more of Faerie than was comfortable.
For a moment, John was furiously angry. Then he looked more closely at the sleeping girls huddled together for warmth and at their makeshift protection. He frowned once more. Surely two such knowledgeable people would have come better prepared, had they intended to spend a night in Faerie. And if they had not intended to stay . . .
Eyeing the girls thoughtfully, John pulled a wand of peeled willow from the sack he carried. He concentrated briefly, then wrote in the air with the tip of the wand. Glowing letters formed where the wand passed, fading slowly into darkness. John read the odd, curving script and nodded. The girls had been kept from leaving, and by some spell of Faerie. He thought for a moment, then concentrated once again. A second time the wand wrote a golden message on the darkened air. This time John frowned. The spell that kept these two in Faerie was tied to him, not them. For the Queen of Faerie’s spell was stronger than she had intended, and it hid the border from all mortal and half-mortal eyes so long as John was seeking it. Since it was John’s attempt to leave that had trapped the girls, he felt in some sense responsible for their safety while they remained in Faerie.
His frown changed to a look of intense thought. Suddenly he smiled. A third time he stared in concentration at the wand, then wrote letters made of light. He stared at them until they faded; then, still smiling, he sat down at the foot of a nearby tree to watch over these unexpected visitors until morning.
CHAPTER · SIX
“One morning they awoke after spending a night in the wood and found a child in a shining dress of white sitting on the ground near where they had been sleeping. The child rose and smiled kindly at them, then went off into the forest without speaking. When the girls looked around, they discovered that they had been sleeping near a steep cliff; if they had gone any farther in the dark the night before, they would surely have fallen over it. ”
WHEN SUNSET NEARED AND BLANCHE AND ROSAMUND had not returned from their herb-gathering, the Widow began to worry. She set rushlights in each window, to guide her daughters in the growing dark, and peered anxiously out at the forest every few minutes as if watching would call them home. But the last shreds of light vanished without bringing the smallest sign of either of the girls.
The Widow made one last trip to the door and peered out at the dim, ominous wood just beyond her garden wall. She stood for a long time in the chill wind, watching and listening. When she could no longer make out the shapes of individual trees, she bit her lip and carefully closed the door.
Inside, she turned and leaned her back against the door, her face grey with worry. Her eyes roamed restlessly about the room and came to rest at last on the shelves of herbs and crockery above the trestle table. She pressed her lips together firmly and looked away, but her eyes kept returning to the shelf. Finally she sighed and stepped away from the door.
With a decisiveness she had not shown a moment earlier, the Widow moved rapidly around the room. She collected the rushlights and put out all but one; then she partially filled her kettle and hung it on the iron hook above the fire. Finally she pulled the blanket from the bed and draped it over the windows, so that no gleam of light could escape, and no one could see in. This done, she went purposefully to her shelf of herbs.
First she took down a small, flat dish made of tin and set it carefully in the middle of the trestle table. Then she sorted rapidly through the herbs. A small heap of dried and crumbling leaves grew in the center of the tin dish: angelica and juniper for protection from harm; rosemary for life and constancy; eyebright, rue, and yarrow for vision. Then the Widow took up the dish and began carefully reducing the herbs to powder with her fingers, mixing and spreading them in a thin layer across the bottom of the dish. A sharp, penetrating scent rose from the herbs and clung to the Widow’s fingers.
The kettle began to boil. The Widow set the tin dish gently on the table. Wrapping one hand in an old rag, she swung the iron hook out and lifted the kettle. She carried it to the table and paused briefly. Then, in a low, clear voice, she said, “Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest, now is the time that face should form another. Fiat!” and began to pour.
Boiling water hissed across the powdered herbs, and a heavy, aromatic cloud of steam rose from the dish. The Widow closed her eyes and breathed deeply; then she set the kettle on the end of the table, opened her eyes, and bent over the bowl.
At first the water was a froth of tiny, foaming bubbles that formed around the powdered herbs and swirled in meaningless patterns. Then a ghostly shape coalesced in the steam above the bubbles: a horrible figure, half man and half bear. As the Widow stared grimly at this apparition, it changed to a
handsome, dark-haired young man with anguished eyes. Then, slowly, the figure melted and shifted until it became a black bear roaring defiance. But the eyes of the bear were the same as the man’s.
The bear vanished suddenly, and the surface of the water cleared. The Widow saw Blanche and Rosamund sleeping, side by side, on the mossy floor of the Faerie forest. At the foot of a nearby tree sat a man dressed in elegant white clothes, gazing at the girls with a thoughtful expression. The Widow stiffened; then she saw the ring of protective herbs encircling her daughters, and she sighed in relief. The breath of air was faint, but enough to disturb the surface of the water. The vision disappeared.
The rushlight had burned nearly down to its holder. The Widow stared at it unseeing for a moment, then shook herself and reached for a replacement. She picked up the kettle and took it outside to empty. When she returned, she lifted the blanket down from the windows and replaced it on the bed. For some minutes she kept herself busy with these commonplace tasks, avoiding another look at the tin dish on the table. Finally she came back and bent once more over the half-full dish of water and herbs.
Her eyes widened in surprise. The swirling water had calmed and the herbs had settled to the bottom, forming a dark pattern against the carefully burnished brightness of the tin. The shape was one the Widow recognized, but not one she had expected; it was the glyph for protection coming out of Faerie.
The Widow stared for a long time, as if she wished to burn the pattern into the backs of her own eyes. At last she picked up the bowl and carried it to the door. She poured off most of the water onto the ground around the rose trees; the herbs she brought back inside and threw sizzling into the fire. Then, assured of her daughters’ safety, at least, she sat down beside the hearth to puzzle over the other things she had been shown.
The Widow’s spell of scrying, carefully guarded though it had been, did not go unnoticed. John, sitting watchfully beside the sleeping girls, felt a shiver run down his arms and knew he was being observed. His head came up, and as the Widow’s spell began to fade he spoke a word of warding, then one of knowledge. He learned enough to know that the spell came from outside Faerie.
That knowledge reawakened all his misgivings about the two sleeping girls. Innocent they might be, in themselves—he could not bring himself to believe harm of the dark-haired girl who had blushed rose-red at his teasing, yet had still been able to look him in the eye and answer back—but evil men had made use of innocence before. After the accusations his mother had hurled at his head, John knew he could not afford to take the risk that the girls might mean ill to Faerie, however small he himself might think it.
And so, just as the sun came up, he opened the sack he had brought with him and took out a ring set with three diamonds. One of the diamonds was cracked across its face; the other two winked and shimmered at him as they caught the first rays of the morning sun. John hesitated. The ring conferred invisibility on its wearer, but it could only be used three times. He had already used it once, years before, and if he put it on now, he would have only one use remaining. He was not sure he wanted to waste the ring out of what might, after all, be phantom worries created by his own fears.
His hesitation lasted too long. Blanche stirred, shifted, and opened her eyes. She was staring straight at John, and her eyes widened as she came fully awake and realized what she was seeing. She clutched at her sister, and Rosamund, too, awoke and saw him.
For a long moment, all three remained motionless. Then John smiled with as much pleasant reassurance as he could express, and slipped the ring onto his finger.
Rosamund and Blanche jumped as the white-clad figure vanished. They clung to each other, staring at the apparently empty space where John had disappeared. Finally Rosamund made an heroic attempt to chuckle. “That’s an uncommon way for a day to begin,” she said. “Perhaps we’re in Faerie.”
“Doubt it not,” Blanche replied, trying hard to sound calm. “Thinkest thou he’s truly gone?”
“Why should he stay?” Rosamund said practically. “If he could cross our warding ring, and so wished, he’d have done so earlier. Faerie power waxes in the night and wanes with day, or so Mother says.”
Blanche shivered. “Then let‘s—Rosamund, look!”
Rosamund turned. A few yards farther on, the spongy moss on which they lay gave way to a fringe of low-growing plants and brush. Beyond, she could see the silver ribbon of a stream reflecting the slanting sunlight, and purple mountains far away that rose more sharply and majestically than any range in all of England. Rosamund stared in awe, and only slowly became aware that the stream was below her, like the Thames seen from the top of a distant hill.
“What—” Rosamund started, then stopped and glanced quickly at her sister. Blanche’s face was white. Rosamund scrambled to her feet, paused, then stepped over the herbs she and Blanche had scattered and walked forward.
Blanche made a strangled sound and came after. Rosamund stopped where the brush began, staring downward. “It’s but a hill.”
“But ‘tis very steep,” Blanche pointed out, and her voice shook despite her efforts to keep it steady. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I think ’tis as well we went no farther last night.”
“I do agree,” Rosamund murmured.
In a subdued and wary frame of mind, the two girls returned to their bundles and prepared to resume their search for the way home. The herbs with which they had made the protective circle around their sleeping place were withered and useless, and Rosamund scraped them together and piled them under a bush so that they would not attract unwanted attention. The rest of the harvest was wilted, but this was no great cause for concern since most of it was to be dried in any case.
John watched with impatience, secure in his invisibility. At last the girls set off. John stayed close behind them, his mind carefully emptied of any interest in leaving Faerie and any thought of searching for its borders. He concentrated only on his need to follow his unknowing guides.
At Blanche’s suggestion, the girls retraced as much of their path of the previous evening as they could recall. It was clear to both of them that the border they sought was nowhere near the unfamiliar cliff where they had spent the night, and they both kept a sharp watch for anything better known to them. Rosamund was the first to cry out in relief and point to a patch of valerian, half of which had been cut back almost to the ground. A moment later Blanche recognized a rowan tree where they had stopped to rest and eat.
Much excited, the two girls hurried on. Soon they reached the place where they had expected to find the edge of Faerie the previous day, and to their surprise and great relief it was there. Blanche and Rosamund smiled at each other and stepped across.
Rosamund stumbled and half turned. “What is it?” Blanche asked anxiously.
“My skirt was caught on something, but it makes no matter; ‘tis free now,” Rosamund said. “Come quickly. Mother will be greatly troubled.”
Blanche nodded, and the two girls headed toward the edge of the forest at a speed just barely less than running.
Behind the girls, just outside the lands of Faerie, John lay panting, triumphant, and invisible on the leaf mold of the mortal woodlands. His guesses about the Queen’s spell had all been right. He could not find the border for himself, but once he stopped searching he could be shown. Even so, he had almost failed; his grip on Rosamund’s skirt had been what finally pulled him out of Faerie, and the effort had exhausted him.
After a time, John regained his breath. He sat up, fingering the ring of invisibility, then rose without removing it. It would look odd indeed for a man clad in finery to walk out of the forest. He had better make his way to London first, where his raiment would attract many thieves but little comment. He sighed, knowing that the walk would take him much of the day. London was a good ten miles from Mortlak, and John was impatient to begin his search for his brother’s tormentor. With a smothered groan, he pushed himself to his feet and started off.
The Widow
greeted her daughters with joy, and insisted that they have something to eat before they told their story. Rosamund and Blanche were nothing loath, though the meal was interrupted several times by the lamb, demanding food and attention. When the dishes were cleared away, the Widow finally allowed the girls to speak. She listened carefully, betraying none of the knowledge she had gained through her arcane labors of the previous night.
“And so we’re safely home at last,” Blanche concluded. She hesitated, then went on doubtfully, “Yet that . . . creature whom we saw so briefly on arising frets me still.”
“How should he fret thee?” Rosamund demanded. “He’s in Faerie; thou‘rt here.”
“Rosamund hath the right of it, I think,” the Widow said firmly. “‘Tis not surprising that Faerie folk should be curious at finding mortals in their midst, and thou hast said this creature offered thee no hurt.”
“And yet he frightened me a little,” Blanche said.
“He seemed familiar to me,” Rosamund said. “And he was sad, and his smile was very kind.”
“Familiar?” the Widow said sharply. “How should he be familiar?”
“I know not,” Rosamund said. “Only that he seemed so to me. I saw him but briefly; perhaps he resembled one of our neighbors. I cannot say for certain.”
“This is a strange coil,” the Widow murmured. She sat thinking for a moment, then looked up. “An you see this being again, in Faerie or out, do you both offer him some kindness. Methinks he hath watched over your slumbers, and belike kept harm from you.”
Blanche and Rosamund stared at their mother in astonishment, but the Widow would say nothing more. They were left to wonder, and to whisper to each other over their chores, while their mother began serenely sorting out the herbs they had brought home.
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