by Nancy Werlin
Now Fenella and Ryland were locked in with Lucy and the child—exactly as Fenella needed them to be.
Chapter 44
Lucy swiveled back. Her cell phone was in one hand and the broom handle in the other. Fenella blinked in surprise as Zach’s tired voice came out of the phone, on speaker. “Lucy?”
“Tolkien,” Lucy said tensely. Then the phone was tucked in Lucy’s bra and she had both hands on the broom handle, holding it positioned horizontally across her middle as if it were a fighting staff.
And she was standing so as to block the door of the room in which Dawn lay sleeping.
Lucy said, “Zach’s on his way, with backup. Just in case your grasp of technology is shaky, he’s listening. He can hear everything that happens in this room.”
It’s all right, Fenella told herself. I can adapt.
Tolkien, said Ryland bemusedly. They prepared for an emergency with a code word. How sweet. But you’re the only one who can hear me.
It was a good point.
“Zach,” Lucy said. “Fenella is here with the cat. I have things under control so far. But the cat isn’t a cat. He’s faerie.”
“I understand,” said Zach.
“Come as quickly as possible. Fenella, start talking. You burned down our house. You ran Leo down. Why? And what does that faerie cat have to do with it?” Her voice sharpened. “Tell him not to move.”
Ryland had poked his head out from behind Fenella.
“The cat can’t do anything without my agreement,” Fenella said soothingly. “I came here to explain to you what’s going on.”
“Go ahead.”
“I will. Uh, I just wonder why you locked Walker out.”
“If I have to attack you, I can’t have Walker getting in the way.”
“But Walker thinks I’m crazy. He was here to protect you.” Fenella had no idea why she was persevering with this instead of proceeding with her planned and necessary confession.
“I won’t take the risk. He’s in love with you.”
“No! Walker hates me.” Fenella paused and then added stupidly, “He said so.”
Lucy didn’t reply. Her grip tightened on her broomstick.
Fenella got hold of herself. She raised her voice to make sure that Zach would hear her.
“I wasn’t released from Faerie to freedom. That was a lie. I have been given three new tasks. They aren’t like the tasks from before. These are tasks of destruction, and—and all of them had to be aimed against my family. Against you.” She swallowed. “I got to pick what to destroy, though. The first two, you already know. But there is the third task still to perform.”
Lucy assimilated this. “You could simply pick any three things to destroy? No puzzle, no song? How easy for you!” Her voice sharpened. “Was it fun? Was it more fun than the three tasks that I did when you couldn’t?”
“Don’t judge me! So, you made a shirt and found some land and so on!”
“You couldn’t do it.”
“I could have, if I’d had help like you did! How dare you? You have no idea what you’d do, if you were in my place.”
“I know I would not get in a car and—” Lucy’s eyes shot poisoned arrows. “Nothing could make me hurt someone else. Nothing!”
“You are very young.” Fenella tried to regain control.
“Really? That’s my problem? Then I never want to be old!”
“Neither did I! Nobody wants to lose their ideals and their dreams and the certainty that they will always find a way to make things right. But that’s what happens when you grow up.” Fenella twisted her hands together. “You do all sorts of things you never thought you would. Some of them are—are bad.”
Lucy’s face was hard.
Fenella cried out with complete sincerity. “You go down a path you never meant to go! If you would only understand why—”
“I’ll never understand. Not if I live to be a hundred.” Lucy said this like it was impossible. “Tell me anyway. Tell me about these evil tasks of yours.”
Fenella looked into Lucy’s implacable face. This was how it had to be: Lucy on one side, Fenella on the other.
But it hurt even more than Fenella had thought it would.
She said, “I had to commit three tasks of destruction. The first was to destroy safety.”
“Zach?” said Lucy.
“Yeah. I’m listening. Go on, Fenella.” Zach used the tone you might use in trying to soothe a wild animal.
Fenella said, “I burned down your house. But I was careful to make sure nobody was there.” She swallowed. “Then—you see, the second task was to destroy love. I had other ideas but they didn’t work out. I thought maybe the dog, but at the last minute, I couldn’t do it and then Leo ran into the road. It was an accident.”
Fenella searched Lucy’s face, and at the same time, she listened for anything Zach might say. She hoped he was putting the pieces together. She hoped he remembered those moments between the two of them in the kitchen of the church apartment, and now understood that he had been an alternate answer to the second task.
And that she had backed away from that choice.
She said, “I had to choose. I had to find some way to destroy love within our family.”
Silence from Zach.
Lucy’s brow knitted. “But until the day I die, I’ll love my daddy. Everyone still loves him. Anyway, he’s not dead. He’s in surgery.”
Fenella said, “I’ve thought of that. But the Faerie Queen— she was the one who explained the tasks—said the second task was complete.”
Zach’s voice came in. “Maybe the queen is trying to trick you.”
My sister is many things, but not a liar! flashed Ryland. The second task is complete.
“Ryland says it’s not a trick and that the second task is done.”
The expression on Lucy’s face made it clear what she thought of Ryland’s assurance.
Fenella said, “So, only the third task is left.” She paused. “Destroying hope.”
Lucy looked at her. “Zach? Did you get that? Destroying hope?”
“Yes,” said Zach.
Lucy said, “What you still haven’t said is why. Why do you have to do these things? Are you still in Padraig’s power? Were you forced?”
How Fenella wished she could have said yes. That, Lucy might have understood.
“No. I am not in Padraig’s power. You released me when you broke the first curse.”
Lucy waited.
“And nobody forced me. I agreed to the tasks.”
“You agreed? You agreed to destroy your family?”
This was the moment, then.
“So I could die,” said Fenella. She met Lucy’s disbelieving gaze. “I am under a secondary curse that gives me long life. I am sick of it. I planned to do the tasks in such a way as to minimize your pain, and yet get what I needed.
“I deserve peace. I must have it. I must have death at last, and this is the only way. You won’t forgive me, I know. But I must and will complete the third task. I must destroy hope.”
She turned to the cat. “Ryland. This is when I need you. Do as I say. Take Dawn to Faerie. I am going to give her to Padraig.”
“What?” yelled Lucy. She dropped the broomstick handle.
There was a blur as Ryland raced through Lucy’s legs into the room beyond, where Dawn had been placed. Lucy whirled instantly to follow.
Fenella ran faster than she ever had in her life. She arrived in the next room on Lucy’s heels, just as Dawn’s voice sang out, finally, with the first word she had ever uttered.
“Keekee!”
Kitty, Fenella translated. Dawn couldn’t pronounce it, but her intent—and her delight—was perfectly clear.
In the dim of a child’s night-lamp, Dawn was sitting upright on her bottom on a small mattress set directly on the floor. Her attention was focused entirely on Ryland. The cat had draped himself over her lap and against her tummy, and Dawn had both little hands ecstatically star-fished in h
is thick, soft fur.
Lucy leaped toward her daughter, both hands outstretched.
But Fenella was already there too. With one hand on the child and the other on Ryland, she said to the cat, “Go.”
Then Fenella, Ryland, and the child were in Faerie, leaving Lucy behind.
Chapter 45
They were once more in the little walled garden in Faerie.
Fenella had never wanted to hold the child. She had managed to avoid it this whole long while. But Dawn pulled in several shallow, frantic breaths as she looked about in this strange land and did not find her mother. Abruptly, she yelled; a single, high, piercing shriek. Fenella knew what was coming.
She picked Dawn up. She cradled her in her arms.
She felt the weight of the child’s compact, strong, yet vulnerable body. She smelled the powdery scent of her skin. She was shocked by the softness of the child’s hair under her cheek.
Fenella had never held Bronagh. Upon Bronagh’s birth, with the three impossible tasks left undone, Fenella had been snatched immediately into Faerie. She had next seen
Bronagh when her daughter came of age. Bronagh was eighteen and Padraig’s property.
Fenella had failed to save her.
Dawn tried to fling herself away from Fenella. “Keekee,” she wailed.
Fenella held her tightly. “No,” she said. “No kitty.”
Dawn’s frightened gaze caught Fenella’s. The child had wide hazel eyes, lightly lashed, with deep, dark, thoughtful pupils. Fenella and Dawn stared at each other for one seemingly endless moment. Fenella felt as if her heart were being squeezed.
Then the child’s fist caught Fenella a hard blow on the chin. “Keekee,” Dawn said again, dangerously.
Fenella looked belatedly for Ryland. But the fluffy white cat with the lush tail and the black, heart-shaped marking was gone. The manticore stood in his place.
Ryland in his true form was larger than Fenella remembered. The shoulders of his powerfully muscled lion’s body came higher than her elbow. His feathered wings were spread and his spiked dragon’s tail flickered high. Fenella blinked, trying to match him to the delicate cat she had known.
Dawn had no trouble. “Keekee,” she cooed.
It was a shock to hear Ryland speak aloud from his human mouth. “Fenella, you may place the child on my back. Don’t worry—she’ll love it.”
Fenella tightened her arms. “We’re fine.”
“You don’t look fine. You look terrified. I won’t hurt her. I see myself more as a babysitter.”
“We’re fine.” Fenella hitched Dawn higher in her arms. Again she inhaled the child’s powdery scent. “Where’s the queen?” she demanded.
“Here.”
Fenella turned. The queen stood in the glade. Her clawed hands were folded before her, and an honor guard of six tree fey surrounded her. The presence of the tree fey made Fenella’s chest expand in unexpected relief and gladness.
She took a step toward the queen.
“See?” said Fenella tensely, even as the child strained again in her arms toward Ryland. “I’ve kidnapped the child. I have destroyed hope.”
“Explain,” said the queen.
Fenella held the squirming child firmly. “There is nothing worse for a mother than the destruction of her daughter. That’s what Lucy is feeling. She believes that I’m giving Dawn to Padraig. This time, Lucy has no way to protect her, no way to save her.”
“Keekee!” screamed the child.
Fenella began rocking her.
“Put Dawn on my back,” said Ryland patiently. “To quiet her down. Or we won’t be able to hear ourselves think.” Fenella cast him a look. “No!”
The manticore took an involuntary step back.
“No!” cried Fenella. “This time I’ll protect her!” She whirled back to the queen. “Summon Padraig. Do you hear me? Summon Padraig here. Now!”
The child began crying in earnest. Fenella knew it was because she was holding her too tightly. She managed to loosen her arms. “Don’t worry,” she murmured. “I’ll take care of you. Mommy promises. Be brave. Just a while longer.”
She was aware of Ryland sidling up next to his sister. “It was too hard. She’s lost her mind after all.”
“I have not,” Fenella whispered. “I am strong.” She gathered her breath and fixed her eyes on the queen’s. “Summon Padraig.” Her voice cracked. “I need him here now.”
The queen nodded to the tree fey. Two of them slipped away, the wind rustling through their leaves.
Fenella found a better way to fit Dawn in her arms. “There,” she said. “There, there. I’ll love you always.” She rocked the child as she held her against her own thudding, terrified heart.
The child’s cries gentled to a whimper. Her limbs relaxed. And then, abruptly, she fell asleep, her exhausted head lolling on Fenella’s shoulder, her arms curled loosely around Fenella’s neck, and her body tucked up against Fenella’s breasts.
Fenella held Dawn. She held Bronagh.
She held them both.
“Fenella Scarborough,” said Queen Kethalia, softly, after forever. “Attend.”
Padraig stepped into the clearing along with the tree fey guard, one to either side, as they made him walk forward. He lifted a thin, shaking hand to his thick dark hair. The gesture was as vain as ever. But as he touched his head, his hair fell away in clumps. Scalp gleamed ghoulishly beneath.
Fenella tilted her chin. She approached. Taking great care not to jostle the child, Fenella faced him.
“I give you this child. Dawn.” Her voice was steady.
Padraig did not move. She looked into his eyes. They were hazy.
“Hold out your arms. Take this child from me. You must do it.”
Stiffly, like an automaton, Padraig tried to obey, reaching out toward the child. He failed to raise his arms fully, however, until the tree fey’s branches bound his arms together to form a safe cradle.
Fenella placed the sleeping child into the cradle. Her breath burned in her throat. She could barely speak.
“I have kidnapped the child. I have taken her from her mother. I have delivered her into the center of the nightmare that all the Scarborough women have dreaded for generations. Her mother will scramble for hope, but in the darkest hour, she will not find it. This I know, for I have done it too. So, the third task, the destruction of hope, is complete.”
Fenella stepped away, leaving the child in Padraig’s arms.
She felt the gaze of the queen, and of Ryland. The wind whistled through the leaves of the tree fey.
Everything depended on her being right.
She said, “But simultaneously, with the completion of the third task, the life-spell upon me is broken. With its ending, Padraig is destroyed. And therefore Dawn is free.”
Fenella turned. She met the gaze of the queen.
The queen nodded.
Fenella exhaled.
Then her body acted so quickly that her mind was left stuttering behind. She darted forward. She grabbed once more for the sleeping child. She snatched her away from Padraig, forever.
She held Dawn safe.
The Mud Creature fell to his knees. “I would have loved you.” His voice was a rasp. “The curse was your fault.” He attempted his old sharp-toothed smile, but two teeth fell from his gums.
His death came rapidly then. The sockets that held his eyes shrank to bare white skull. Skin sloughed away from his cheeks. How he kept his head upright and his back erect without either muscle or skin, Fenella did not know. Yet the Mud Creature managed, until he had rotted to bone.
With a clatter, his skeleton fell to the earth.
His clothing remained. Fenella recognized the empty knee-length boots of supple leather, the same boots he had worn on the day she had first seen him, four hundred years ago, when she was coming home from market with her donkey.
Chapter 46
When Fenella came back into herself, she was still holding Dawn. A sliver of moon had risen i
n the sky above, and the stars filled the heavens, more numerous and visible than they could be in the troubled human sky.
She glanced at the queen, who stood with Ryland at her side. On the queen’s right, a large copse of the tree fey had appeared. They stood close together, their limbs and leaves and needles and bark whispering. They were black oak and willow, ash and chestnut, magnolia and locust, pine and walnut, birch and hemlock, fir and hawthorne, maple and alder. They were both young and old intermingled. Their numbers seemed endless.
No other fey were present.
“The child must be returned to her mother,” Fenella said numbly. “It is my last obligation before I die.”
“It shall be done,” said the queen. “This I swear.” Then the tree fey seemed to open their arms to Fenella. Her
feet took her to them. She leaned against the strong trunk of the central, largest fey. An oak leaf brushed her cheek. She felt old, rough boughs come down and gently encircle her shoulders. Younger boughs touched her waist and lingered there. More caressed the child, supporting her as well.
“I am sorry,” she said aloud to them. “I made so many mistakes. I understand that I should have stayed here in Faerie and continued to learn patience. I could have had a life here, with you. There would have been no pain for my family. I was selfish.”
You are and will always be our adopted daughter, the oak whispered back to her. It was not an acceptance of her apology, and it was also not a reproof, and it was also not an answer, really, but that was the way of the tree fey. A leaf brushed her skin again, and she remembered the oak leaf that had been sent to her in the human realm. It had given her such comfort and reassurance. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For everything.”
Then, because she knew what she must do, she moved to stand again on her own. A last question came to her, and she turned impulsively to the queen.
“I remain confused about the second task. Leo Markowitz is still loved, even if he dies.”
“He won’t die. His injuries were serious, but the surgery has gone well and he will recover. Perhaps not to full health, but he will be well enough.”
