"You worry too much, advisor, but should your fears prove sound, then all the better that we have arrived in time to intercede on behalf of this poor child's fate. Look about you. Doth she have the benefit of a forest guard? Yet here she stands, alone and unafraid."
The regal woman smiled at Carole. "Dear one, my name is Princess Glistlefern, and I hold dominion over this land of the Silvering Oaks." She indicated the bordering forest, which continued to shimmer, even though there was no longer a hint of breeze in the air. "And this cautious individual," she said as she indicated the old faerie, "is Wrinkletoes, my chief advisor. Timid to a fault perhaps, but his protestations are solely for my benefit, and he is most often a fount of sage advice."
Wrinkletoes bowed low.
"Beside him, are the Lord and Lady Trudupkin, two of my favorite companions. And behind them are my most trusted attendants: Thornblower, Morningdew, and Lukie." At the mention of his or her name, each performed a formal bow or curtsy.
"We were presently to dine when I felt your arrival in our realm. You do, I must say, have the look of a Hub witch about you, my dear, though that would indeed be much to hope for in these dire times. So pray tell, who are you, and how came you to the sweet shores of Lilypad Lake?"
Carole curtseyed somewhat clumsily. "My name is Carole Sylphwood and I've been told that I'm from the Hub, but I haven't come here from The Hub...at least not directly."
"But your Majesty, all multitaskers must come directly from The Hub," Wrinkletoes said. "A Hub witch is tethered to that nexus, as a spider is to its silk! That is their way. To not come from such, is to not be such!"
"So you say, Wrinkletoes, and yet this child hath arrived in a manner befitting that of a multitasker, though according to the weave of her light, she is not presently attached to The Hub."
"Somewhat befitting a multitasker, princess. There are irregularities in her song." The advisor pointed to the air a few inches off to Carole's right.
"Beautiful irregularities nonetheless, Wrinkletoes. And heard you not her maiden voice? Doth she not bear the name of faerie ilk? Still, it is true she doth not appear as lithe as you nor I."
"Certainly not as fair as you, your majesty. No fay that dances betwixt the raindrops of our handsome realm doth bear a radiance equal to your own splendor."
"You silver-tongued fox." The princess laughed. "But now back to you, Carole of the Sylphwood. Could you soothe the old nerves of my Wrinkletoes, by providing him with a solution to his perplexity?"
"I'll do my best."
"Splendid, my dear. So how is it that a Hub witch bearing the name of faerie kin hath arrived in our realm at a time when none other dares visit?"
"By mistake. I'm trying to find my way back to The Hub and somehow ended up here. And Wrinkletoes is right. I'm not attached to The Hub, at least not anymore. I got thrown off by something called The Great Conundrum."
"The Conundrum? Will that infernal cosmic pestilence never cease to torment us? Wrinkletoes declared.
"I do think counselor, that in this circumstance it is our guest who hath been tormented. Still," the princess continued as she studied Carole's features carefully, "there is something about you...something akin to this realm. Perhaps you have a drop or two of faerie blood pulsing within your veins."
Carole felt a tingling sensation as Princess Glistlefern concentrated a piercing stare at her chest.
The princess looked away a few seconds later, her expression uncertain. "That must be it."
Princess Glistlefern turned to the others. "We must celebrate the timely arrival of this distant cousin of ours, and a Hub witch at that. Wrinkletoes, let us prepare a proper Feast of Linking."
Wrinkletoes stared with unabashed surprise. "But--but your majesty, without a Council of Confirmation? And here of all places and of all times? So close to the Silvering Oaks?"
"Are they not the same Oaks which my crown doth swear to protect?" The princess's eyes flashed lightning.
"Yes, your Majesty." Wrinkletoes' feet turned red and his toes squirmed like so many worms. "But since the change? And tonight of all nights? See how the Pale One dogs the Sisters. If she should turn red of face during that chase..." The old advisor nervously squinted skyward.
"Should the Pale One loose her anger upon the land, than we shall skip back to our court. Our steeds remain bridled and are merely a whistle away."
"That is true your Majesty, but--"
"My Lord and Lady Trudupkin, do you also feel as timorous as our counselor? Is a ceremony, small and meager though it must be, truly such an ill-advised event to hold?"
"My princess." Lord Trudupkin bowed so low that his spiked, purple hair brushed against the sand. "Your counselor hath indeed grown wise in his many, many years, but perhaps in so doing is it possible that he hath forgotten some of the joys and responsibilities of life? For do we not owe our guest the courtesies which we are still capable of bestowing, despite our own hardships? And as your Majesty hath so insightfully pointed out, should disaster befall our meager affair, we need but take to wing and push speedily for home!"
"Spoken wonderfully my brave lord." Princess Glistlefern chuckled. "Wrinkletoes, have the attendants set forth a Feast of Linking for our guest. Close--but not too close--to the Silvering Oaks. Though we dare not pass directly 'neath their leafy limbs, I wish those noble trees to know we have not abandoned them."
"But Princess," Wrinkletoes persisted, "a Linking Ceremony? She is not yet proven."
"Is she not? Who else hath dared the tumults of the spheres to visit our land these past nine turns, save for this Carole of the Sylphwood? And see the cost. She hath no raiments befitting one of her stature. She is bedraggled and bare of foot. Not yet proven? Tell me, is there another within our own court who would fare so well amongst the heavenly weave, let alone dare to set sail under such celestial storms?
"Enough of this timidity! Bring me proper Links, those befitting one of my stature, those you would present to myself."
The faeries gasped and bowed deeply towards Carole before quickly and cheerfully--except Wrinkletoes--running about the business of setting up their feast.
"Wait a minute," Carole said. "I'm not sailing into any storms. I'm just trying to get home."
"Come, my dear, let us retire to the wood's edge so that I might lift some of the distress from your brows." The princess led Carole to an old oak which stood a little apart from the rest of the forest, being careful not to walk directly beneath the tree. She looked over the woodland; a smile on her lips, but her eyes clouded. "This beautiful land was once our playful domain and we its joyous guardians," she said with a sigh.
"Until The Great Conundrum?" Carole said.
"So it would seem.
"Before that time we lived harmoniously with the lights of our land, tending their song and weaving health and happiness into our realm. Indeed we did not know it was possible to be separate from the song of life. The weave was us, as much as we were the weavers. Yet since that day, the music hath changed. The light hath oft failed us, and the weave hath become a web to ensnare the gentle folk who seek to ply its strands. Even here, so close to the lyrical heart of my realm, we must be on constant alert."
"You're not exactly making me feel better."
The princess smiled wisely. "Old Wrinkletoes might appear overly frightful, but he hath spoken with truth. I do value his advice and share much of his concern, but with regards to the Feast of Linking he is mistaken. The ceremony is a celebration. A song wherein we ask your voice to join with ours to help strengthen the light, indeed to become one with ours, so that you shall henceforth be recognized as both a weaver of the light and as one of us.
"Despite what Wrinkletoes might think, this is not a decision I take lightly, Carole of the Sylphwood, for very few off-worlders are ever bonded so strongly to the fay. It should be considered both a great honor and a great responsibility. Yet I see a greater song being woven by what we shall do here this night. A song which could strengthen you in your jou
rney and, in so doing, provide hope and light to us all."
Carole cleared her throat. "Uh, Wrinkletoes also mentioned something about some sisters?"
"The Sisters." Glistlefern pointed to the twin moons floating overhead. "There they swim amongst the stars." She next pointed to the larger moon. "And the Pale One hath begun her chase. Normally such events are accompanied with joyous festivals, for they signify adventure and change, but alas, they have become messengers foretelling a time of dread. If the Pale One should turn red of face at not being able to catch the sisters, her anger will spill upon our land like a frigid snow. It is a painful disturbance felt by us all.
"There are those whose hearts are more easily swayed to madness and who, within such madness, have turned to darker trails and darker pursuits. If such should happen here tonight, it would be wise to flee before the madness completely awakens and seeks you out."
"But, I don't know how--"
Wrinkletoes appeared. "The feast is in preparation, my Lady. The Linking may proceed."
"My dear, I must ask you to hold your questions a little longer. This way if you please."
* * *
- 18 -
Princess Glistlefern led Carole to a small fire over which hung a steaming silver cauldron, beside which lay a silken cloth covered with delicious-smelling morsels. Although only moments before she hadn't the slightest urge to eat, the aroma of the food was such that Carole's mouth began to water.
The princess guided Carole to a spot nearest the fire and motioned for her to sit. The rest of the faeries had arranged themselves around the food.
"It hath been many a celestial turn since we weavers have performed a Linking," Princess Glistlefern announced. "Though some may cast doubt upon the timing or worthiness of such a ceremony--"
Carole stole a quick glance at Wrinkletoes, whose toes remained noticeably still.
"Let me quell your misgivings. I have sensed a higher purpose to the forging of this link. It is not as Councilor Wrinkletoes might imagine, simply a whim for pleasure, nor as Lord Trudupkin might think, a thread to provide for the makings of a new court yarn. This shall be a link forged as much for its necessity as for its merit, even if the splendor of the event will be but the palest of shadows to our ceremonies long since past. So bow in honor and companionship to Carole of the Sylphwood, a Hub Witch, a friend to the Silvering Oak Faeries and yet more. Bow to one who shall forevermore be linked to the Faerie, be she with us in our own realm, or traveling amongst the celestial lights."
The faeries bowed to Carole, not just once, but three times. Princess Glistlefern stepped forward, taking Carole's hands in her own.
Carole's cheeks burned. "But I'm not--"
The princess pressed a tiny finger to Carole's lips, gently but firmly silencing her. "Allow us to present you with a Link of Protection and raiments from our own looms, to replace those garments which have deserted you in your time of need."
The attendant named as Morningdew stepped forward holding a silken cloth. Princess Glistlefern accepted it and showed Carole a hooded dress that pulsed with a rainbow of colors.
The princess motioned for Carole to kneel and slipped the dress over her head. The material felt feathery light, yet warm and almost alive. Carole stood up to admire the garment, noticing as she did so, that her own skirt had somehow dropped from her body. It lay on the ground like a discarded skin.
She stepped out of the tattered garment and kicked it away, while marveling at the shimmering material of the new gown. She spun around, feeling as if she weren't wearing a thing, yet sensing a subtle strength to the dress.
"Yes." Princess Glistlefern nodded. "Your senses are correct. Threads of light have been sung into the garment to provide a measure of protection. It can, in its own way, respond to your needs."
Thornblower next approached, bringing a sparkling circlet. "Please bow, Carole of the Sylphwood, to receive the Link of Recognition, a crown spun from the pollen of golden night-blooms."
Carole bent to allow the princess to place the shiny crown onto her head, aware of a tingle given off by the jewelry. She reached up to finger it, but touched only her own hair.
"It is no longer there," Princess Glistlefern said, "for the circlet becomes part of you the moment it rests upon the brow. Did you not feel the warmth of its settling? Yet fear not. The night-bloom remains for always, though it is perceptible only to those with eyes to see and ears to hear. It sings its own song, unique in the cosmos. Henceforth, amongst The Fay you shall always be recognized as an honored guest."
Lukie stepped up, holding a silver object. "And last I present you with the Link of Truth. 'Tis a wand fashioned by the gentle hands of an aged master." The princess slipped what looked like a tiny whistle, strung on a delicate braid, around Carole's neck.
"Though the Pale One hath turned against us and there is little we can do to stop the vile brew which boils up from her anger, this wand shall at least protect against spells from those kin who have gone awry." The princess looked searchingly into Carole's eyes. "Its projective magic works by way of the music of the spheres, but one needs proper schooling to claim that usage. Perhaps in brighter days you will choose to return and play a few spells on the reed."
"I'll certainly do my utmost," Carole said, slipping the necklace securely under her new dress. "I've never received anything half so beautiful as these treasures, and only hope I'll be worthy of them and of your faith and trust in me."
"Three gifts made with love, in trust, and of truth. Wear them well and may they serve you well. Now sit and dine with us, as a true sister of the Silvering Oak Faeries."
The princess offered Carole a cup, fashioned from a leaf whose edges seemed to have been stitched together by spider's silk. Inside the vessel was a clear liquid. Everyone, attendants and royalty alike, held aloft similar cups. They were looking at her, expectantly.
Carole brought the cup to her lips, seeing that the others did the same, and tentatively sipped. The drink was thicker and sweeter than the lake water and as she swallowed, a delicious warmth spread throughout her body. She licked her lips, and took a larger sip. "This is quite an honor."
"The honor, dear one, is all ours, and we can but hope to live up to your example. I do not believe there is one amongst us who would even boast to attempt what you shall strive to accomplish."
Carole didn't quite like the sound of that last remark. Princess Glistlefern might mean finding the connector, though she couldn't exactly remember when she'd told the faerie princess about that...
She'd best ask just to be certain...right after she finished this very tasty drink.
What a shame that there wasn't more than just... Oh, someone has already refilled the cup. Now when did that happen? Oh, oh... there must be something a lot stronger than flower nectar in here.
She carefully placed the cup on the ground and ate a few bites from the plate of food that had mysteriously appeared on her lap. The food helped center her thoughts a little, though none wanted to stay in her head long enough for her to get a good look. Finally, after a great deal of effort, she said, "I'm having a hard time thinking straight."
The princess's voice floated into her mind. That is the work of The Linking, my child. Your very essence is stretching and joining with the Silvering Oaks, we Fay, and the celestial spheres themselves. It is a very expansive feeling, but do not worry. When you drink of the simmering broth, you shall again be master of your own mind. In the meantime, enjoy what The Linking shall bring.
Carole listened to the sounds of merriment. The faerie voices seemed to chime together like crystal bells. She discovered that she could see right through the revelers, as if their bodies were indeed crystal. Not only that, but she could see strands of light merging with the faeries, threads coming out of the sky, the ground, and even from herself.
Fascinating!
She followed one of the thicker threads as it snaked away into the forest. The oaks had also become transparent, as if no longer made of wood but
of frozen flame. A faint music came from them, not as striking as the faeries' voices, but in its own way wonderfully harmonious...
Except for one sour note.
That note was like a fingernail scraping across a blackboard. Carole rolled her head from side-to-side, trying to shake off the unpleasant sound.
"There!" she said, when she spied the source. It was a spring of rusty black oil, bubbling up and seeping over the forest floor. She turned away from the disgusting sight to listen instead to the music of the lake, which was much more pleasant and even lower in pitch than the forest.
Effervescent trails were skimming along the water's surface. "Water bugs?" She giggled. Were they the singers or was it actually the water singing?
Farther off-shore was something else, a patch of mist. It was duller than the lake, but not at all unpleasant. Now and again it flashed with brilliant color.
Carole sighed. She could have easily drifted off, if it weren't for that unpleasant grating, coming from behind. What was it?
Oh yeah, that oily stuff. Only the noise seemed a lot louder than before. Looking down, she saw that the ground beneath her had somehow turned rusty black.
She leapt to her feet. The oily, rusty image faded, along with the more pleasant sounds and sights. The faeries were in a flurry of activity. Attendants had gathered up the remnants of the feast and were dumping everything into baskets. Princess Glistlefern and the other members of her court, were already astride their dragonflies which now hovered skittishly over the ground, straining against their harnesses.
"Carole of the Sylphwood, you must return from The Linking. Time is of the essence. The Pale One hath turned, and her anger is spreading over the land. We must fly to the safety of our court and you must be about your own heroic journey."
The large moon, which had traveled halfway across the sky, was now glowing an angry cast of red. "But--but--" The meaning of the princess' words sank in. "But I'm lost! I don't know how to continue. Can't I come with you for the night?"
The Lost Witch Page 11
