The queen gave a little laugh. “That I well know, for none can deny me! But in this alone I cannot command you. You must go willingly.”
“No,” Meg whispered to him. “You can’t. I won’t let you.” She took a step forward to put herself between her brother and the queen’s temptations, but he shouldered her aside almost roughly.
“I go willingly,” he said, as if in a dream. “Wherever you bid me.” As though he had been doing such things all his life, he bowed to her. Several half-seen things around the Black Prince stirred at the sight of Rowan’s bent, bared neck.
“A child?” said the Black Prince. “The teind shall be easily paid at this rate, and the War will be done before I’ve had any sport. Is this how battles are fought? Mayhap I’ll choose that little babe at his side, and hide him in a hollow log to prolong the fighting. A pretty scheme, this!” He scowled at the prince. “Will you sacrifice your own champion just to end the battle early? I want the fray to last long enough to slay you, and you well know once a champion has fallen the fighting ends. I mean to kill you, and make your queen my own. Will you buy yourself another seven years at the cost of this boy’s life?”
But the prince didn’t look at all concerned, and on the Seelie side, an impish green creature with long ears that pointed at the tips and lobes made a rude face at the Black Prince and gave a loud raspberry.
“We shall see how the child comports himself in battle,” the prince said. “Choose who you think best, and we will meet at Midsummer.”
The Black Prince leaped upon his horse and wheeled the beast around with a flourish. “We will meet!” he cried. “And the Host will win the field. Treasure these days until Midsummer, my queen, for soon you will have a new consort!” With a jangle of armor he galloped away, and his retinue followed. Great gashes were left in the turf where they had stood.
As soon as the forest swallowed them up, the Seelie Court burst into a cacophony of song, dispelling the ominous gloom the dark company had brought. Then the queen held up her hand, and all fell silent.
“Children,” she said, in a voice as kind as their mother’s, “you have nothing to fear…though the things you have seen, and the things you have heard, are fearsome indeed. Be merry on this night, and on some tomorrow you will learn what is to come.” She spoke a low word to her horse, and he pranced lightly off. Rowan made as if to follow her, but Meg held him back, and the prince who had been Gul Ghillie shook his head.
“This is not the time to learn more,” he said. “Go, and follow the will-o’-the-wisp. He will lead you safe to the road. I will find you again. Farewell!” He mounted a horse held by one of the nobles and galloped off after his queen, scattering the romping hordes of his followers.
A moment later, the hill was sealed and bare, all traces of the fairy courts gone. The horses of the Seelie Court left no mark, and when they had passed over the torn earth the foliage healed itself. Meg, who had to be sensible because no one else ever would, immediately ran through the litany of disbelief. Had that miraculous crowd really been there? Had they said those dreadful—and yet oh-so-exciting—things? And in any case (she was clearer-headed than any of the others at that moment), shouldn’t they be getting home before they were found out? She gave Rowan a shove, for he was still staring spell-struck at the green swath where the glittering company had stood.
“C’mon!” she said, gathering up James and pulling Silly by the arm. “We’re not going to see anything else here tonight, and we can talk about it just as well safe at home.” But, somehow, it seemed that nothing would ever be quite safe again.
Meg hustled and bustled her reluctant siblings home, finding refuge in her mother-ways when what she really wanted to do was shake Rowan until he admitted what a fool he was. Fight in a war? Was he mad? Yes, she decided, this was a night of madness. In the morning, she was certain, she’d be able to talk some sense into her fairy-addled brother.
Silly came along easily enough, albeit with a sort of bemused smile on her face. For the rest of that night, she reminded them of some of the odder fairies she’d seen (though Meg and Rowan had mostly looked at the more human-seeming mounted court), and pulled faces and capered in imitation of them. Rowan walked with the other Morgans back through the woods, following the dusty glowing ball that hovered ahead of them just within sight, but he seemed hardly there. His thoughts were all with the queen, and his heart ached with the desire to serve her. Boys, Meg thought.
They met a very cross Finn on the road, and found Dickie sleeping under the shrubberies at the front of the Rookery. Each group had its own secrets, and no one had a word to say as they made their way safely home. The crows in their high roosts mumbled and cursed at the children creeping into the house, then tucked their great beaks under glossy wings and went back to sleep.
Several Palavers
The Morgans, having added everything up and realized that their great-great-aunt and -uncle were not loonies after all, knew they should at once spill their strange tale to Phyllida and Lysander, who evidently knew all about fairies, and would no doubt have words of wisdom, or at least of comfort, for them. The Ashes knew the fairies, and the fairies, it seemed, knew them. Who better to consult when you have just seen the two great courts of English fairies, which few alive have ever seen, and your brother has been conscripted to serve in one of their wars?
But they did not tell the Ashes, not yet. They had known one another far longer than they’d known their English relations, and were more inclined to put their trust in their siblings. And it seemed to them, somehow, a very terrible thing to be found out. They had been warned not to go out that night, and promised to stay inside…and see what the consequences of their disobedience were! They weren’t so much afraid of any punishment, for what could vie with the glory and the danger that had faced them that night? Could a chastisement, a grounding, or even a whipping make them regret the beauty they had seen, or save them from any of the peril that seemed to loom? Still, they had that universal dislike of an I-told-you-so, and, being young, they found it particularly disagreeable when an adult is proved to have known best.
As soon as they crept into the house that night, they went to bed. Even Silly had grown tired of imitating the fairy faces. A deep weariness fell over them all—which may have been part of the fairy glamour, though it might have only been that the hours of traveling, excitement, and sleeplessness finally caught up with them. In any case, they mounted the stairs in a stupor and curled up in their beds, where perhaps they dreamed of things nearly as wonderful as they’d beheld in waking life.
They woke up late the next morning to find someone had brought rolls and marmalade and orange juice on porcelain trays and placed them at their bedsides. The Morgans gobbled down most of it before they had any clear memory of the fairy court, and they nearly collided in the hall as the girls and boys dashed for one another’s rooms at the same time. They collected in the girls’ room, all finding cozy spots on Meg’s bed. But for several minutes they just sat there, uncomfortable and almost embarrassed.
“Was it real?” Rowan asked at last.
“Do we all remember it?” Meg said breathlessly, turning from one to another. “The queen, and Gul turning into the prince, and…and what she said to you?” Her wide eyes settled on Rowan.
“I’m to fight for her, against some other champion,” Rowan said, though in the clear light of late morning he didn’t seem nearly so sure of himself as he had standing before the lady on the edge of shadows.
“Why did you say yes, Rowan?” Meg said, wringing her hands. (Hand wringing is a very awkward thing to do. But perhaps when one is distraught, it feels more natural.)
“I…I don’t know.”
“He was trying to look brave in front of the queen,” Silly said.
“No, it wasn’t quite that,” Rowan said slowly, still working things out in his own head. “I wasn’t trying to look brave. I was brave, but only right then, when she was looking at me. For her, I could have done anything. T
hat’s how it felt. Not that I could have tried to do anything, but that I actually could have done it. I don’t know why I felt that way. I certainly don’t now.”
“Well, you’re not going to fight,” Meg said with absolute finality. “We’ll just have to tell them that. They can’t make you fight. That’s all there is to it.” Though, somehow, she knew it wasn’t.
“I guess so,” Rowan said. “But if I promised…”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Meg, who in this case didn’t have a very fine notion of honor or promises. “You’re only a boy—you can’t fight in a war. No matter who tells you to.”
Rowan didn’t look entirely convinced, and said nothing. “Shouldn’t we try to find them then?” Silly asked. “To tell them that Rowan won’t fight? When’s Midsummer anyway?”
Meg shrugged. “Summer’s June, July, and August. It must be sometime in July. I’ll ask Auntie Ash. But Gul—I mean the prince—said he’d find us, didn’t he? We’ll tell him then. It will be easier without the queen there.” She looked archly at Rowan.
The matter settled, in Meg’s mind at least, they turned to discussing the fairies themselves. They were all very much in awe of the lords and ladies, and even those on the Black Prince’s side seemed chiseled by artists of exceptional skill. The queen was their chief topic, but Meg kept bringing up the Black Prince, wondering if he was as devilish as he seemed, and Silly was still entranced by the lesser fairies, with their odd forms and cavorting antics. They rehashed what they had heard, and what they thought they had learned from the conversations—that there were two courts of the fairies, the Seelie and the Host, and it was quite evident to the children which they preferred. They were still naïve in the ways of fairies, and they wanted to classify the two as either good or bad. They did not yet know that such words are laughable in dealings with the world of Fairy.
“They have a war, then, every seven years,” Silly said. “And the Black Prince wants to kill the Seelie prince. But why did they want you to fight with them?”
Rowan didn’t much care for the way she said it, but he took her point. Those of the fairies who looked most human were taller and stronger and more warlike (for all that they were beautiful) than any humans he had ever seen. And the others—why, even the tiny or comical ones looked intimidating to him, and if they could change shape, as Meg claimed they could, then there was no limit to their ferocity. What need had they of a human boy to fight their battles for them?
They talked on, and in the noise of their mingled laughter and wonderment they did not hear the bare feet that padded just outside their door. Finn Fachan, dressed in pin-striped pajamas, leaned against the wall and drank it all in. On any other morning, he would have thought all the Morgans either had gone mad or were playing an elaborate trick on him. But while wandering alone in the woods he’d seen something that made their overheard stories seem credible.
When he set off in the direction where he, in his foolish confidence, was sure the Rookery lay, he moved with no thought of wild beasts or brigands, and certainly no fear of fairies. He was a sensible fellow, a thoroughly modern boy who knew that such things as fairies could not exist, and the dark woods held no peril for him. If he didn’t yet believe in them, however, they certainly seemed to believe in him, for, as he tramped his way through the vines and roots, squinting eyes watched him, and voices no louder than rustling leaves mocked him. Unseen by Finn, little pixies with grass growing out of their backs jumped under his feet, and when he trod on them the stray sods turned him in a new direction. He thought he was heading home, but others in the forest had plans for him that night, and they directed his steps.
Though he wasn’t frightened, he was growing ever more angry. He cursed the Morgans in general, and Rowan in particular, spitting out oaths under his breath that even he wouldn’t dare say aloud. Those who followed him, who guided him, listened with interest. Here is one who does not care for the Seelie champion! they thought. Now, what use can be made of this?
Finn heard another voice calling out to him, but this time there was no doubt that it wasn’t one of the Morgans. It was a woman’s voice, harsh and rasping as an old crow, and it grated upon him like a knife scraped over bones. Yet the words it spoke were perfectly calculated to lure him nearer, for Jenny Greenteeth always knows how to entice people to her shores.
“They lie to you!” she whispered from the tangle of willow roots where she made her home. “They keep secrets from you, boy! They run from you to see great wonders, and leave you to the darkness.” Her lips were wide like the mouth of a catfish, and she gnashed a multitude of fangs as the scent of boy-flesh drew nearer.
“Who are you?” Finn cried as he stumbled toward the voice.
“The water murmurs its secrets to me, child. I hear them laughing at you.”
“Where are you? Show yourself!”
Before him lay a dank and stagnant pond covered over in green slime. Bubbles rose from the murk, clearing circles in the scum to show black water beneath. The voice was very close now, but he could see no one.
“Come to the water’s edge,” Jenny Greenteeth said, and there was an age-old hunger in her voice. “Peer into the water, boy, and you will see what your enemies are about.”
He was unable to resist that grating voice, or the promise it offered of secrets revealed. If there was one thing Finn hated, it was secrets—unless they were in his keeping. He knew the Morgans were plotting some unpleasantness against him, probably in league with their crazy relatives and that milquetoast Dickie. If there were secrets to discover, no force could keep him from unearthing them. He knelt on the mossy bank and immediately felt dampness seeping into the knees of his trousers.
“Bend over the water, boy! Do it now, before it’s too late!”
That was enough for him. He lowered his head and with both hands swept away the slime that coated the surface. Beneath, the water was like a dark mirror, and he stared fixedly into it. For a moment he saw his own face, then the water clouded and cleared to show a gathering of outlandish people, some on horseback, some on foot (or paw, or hoof), dancing at the base of a hill. Among them was a woman so lovely it made his chest ache, and he bent until his face almost touched the foul water.
And then he saw in their midst the four Morgans. There was Rowan, speaking to that woman. There were the others, keeping it all to themselves, running away from Finn so they could laugh to think how he had missed out. The dawning realization that there were really fairies (for even to the jaded Finn, what else could such a company be?) paled beside his resentment that the Morgans had contrived to keep him out of it. But he had gotten the better of them! The voice had called him to the gazing pool, and he had seen just what the Morgans hoped to keep from him. Ha! Fool Finn Fachan? Not this time!
He stared and stared at the image in the pool, wishing he could hear what everyone was saying. They were probably telling the Morgans more secrets. Well, he was on to them now, and no secret was safe from Finn. He’d find out everything there was to know about the fairies. Already he’d forgotten how he’d scoffed at the Ashes, how he’d planned to step on ants, how childish all this fairy business had seemed just a few minutes ago.
Jenny Greenteeth had not hunted in a long time. All of the Gladysmere children knew to stay away from her pond, and it was only once in a great while that some disoriented traveler passed her way and was tempted to draw near to her putrid hole. There was a time when no one could come within the reach of her long sinewed arms and escape, be he child or man. (For, though she preferred the tender flesh of children, she would make do with adults, or rats, or frogs, when they came close enough.)
Now she was out of practice, and she found herself so fascinated by the nearness of such a tasty morsel that she took too much pleasure in stalking it, and did not strike in time. There were his soft white hands, still trailing in her pond; there his throat, where flowed warm blood. So delightfully near! So delicious to anticipate the feel of her hundred sharp teeth sinking into the
place where his neck met his shoulder! She should have grabbed him with her crushing arms and drowned him, to be sure of her prey. But she could not resist the temptation to tear at him first with her teeth, and she crept up until she was directly below him.
Alas for Jenny Greenteeth, she forgot that she was no longer hidden beneath the floating verdure of scum. Her face revealed itself clearly from the depths, and Finn threw himself backward just as she sprang. For a moment her green body arched in the biting sting of the air, which burned her like fire, and then she sank back into her dank home, sulking and starving. She had a small hope that he would disbelieve his eyes and might creep closer for another look. Then she would snatch him and pull him under—she’d take no more chances.
But Finn, though he dearly wanted to see more of the Morgans and the fairy courts, had seen the flash of teeth, and took off at a run as soon as he could gather his legs under him. Within a few minutes he found the road, and shortly thereafter the Morgans. He was full of sour looks, and told them nothing of what he had seen.
When Finn lurked outside the girls’ room the following morning, he couldn’t hear every word they said—for who, talking of fairies for the first time, would speak above a whisper? He did not hear about the War, though he did catch a word here and there that told him Rowan was having closer dealings with the fairies than Finn liked. The Morgans described the very things he’d seen in Jenny Greenteeth’s pool, and he smiled to himself to think what means he would use to find out more. Then he backed up a few paces, cleared his throat, and entered the room. The Morgans immediately fell silent, but he affected not to notice.
Under the Green Hill Page 8
