Scavenger laughed. Adrian would have smiled himself if he hadn't realized that Luke was so serious.
"He can't spell anyone," Adrian said. "He's a Red Cap. They have no magic."
Luke didn't appear convinced, but he nodded. "You get to fight this with Granddad," he said.
"I will," Adrian said. He slipped his arm around his son's waist. They started forward when Adrian realized that Coulter wasn't coming. "Hold on a moment," he said to Luke.
Adrian ran back across the road. Coulter was chewing on a blade of grass, staring back in the direction they came. When Adrian touched his shoulder, Coulter started. His eyes widened for a moment and slowly filled with his personality.
"What were you doing?" Adrian asked.
Coulter swallowed. "Checking my Links. Seeing if I can still Send."
Adrian understood the importance of the connection. Coulter had used his Link after Shadowlands stopped shaking to determine if Gift was all right. He was.
"You coming?" Adrian asked.
Coulter shrugged. "Looks like you don't need me no more."
"Because of Luke?" Adrian asked.
Coulter nodded. Once.
"Coulter," Adrian said, "he's my son, but he's lived without me for five years. You and I, we've relied on each other that long. I'm not going to trade my relationship with you for my relationship with him."
Coulter kicked at the dirt beside the road. His pants were so dirty that they looked as if they were made from mud.
"I want you to stay with me. I wouldn't have brought you this far otherwise."
"But you love him better."
Adrian glanced at Luke. Luke was a man now, no longer the uncertain boy who had been in Shadowlands. Coulter, for all his bravado, was still a child. A brilliant, talented child, but a child nonetheless.
"I love him," Adrian said. "But I love you too. It would break my heart if you leave now."
"Gift needs me," Coulter said.
"They'll kill you in Shadowlands."
Coulter bit his lower lip.
"The Link remains, doesn't it?" Adrian asked.
Coulter nodded. "I can reach him," Coulter said.
"Then that should be enough. If Gift needs you, he'll reach you. You can stay here until that happens."
Coulter still hadn't said anything. Adrian slipped his arm around the boy's shoulder and pulled him close. "Don't leave," Adrian whispered. "I'd miss you. I haven't been here for a long, long time. I'm as much a stranger as you are."
Coulter looked up at him, surprise on his face. "You're scared?" Coulter asked.
"Terrified," Adrian said.
Coulter grinned. Then he glanced across the road. Luke and Scavenger were talking. Actually, Scavenger was talking, his hands waving as he explained something, probably his own history and why he was trustworthy. Luke was listening intently. Adrian smiled. He had to give his son credit. No matter what he had gone through, Luke was still willing to give a Fey a chance.
"Come on," Adrian said. He took Coulter's hand. "Let's go home."
Together they crossed the road and walked down the incline toward the farm. With each step, Adrian felt his old self returning. He couldn't wait to put his hands in the soil, to plant the new crop, to feel the sun on his back.
He had a boy to raise. He had to get reacquainted with his son. And he had to force his family to get used to a Fey. But he could do it. In the air, and the sunshine, away from the shadows, he could do anything he wanted.
SEVENTY-TWO
Gift put his hands over his ears. He hunched down and closed his eyes. He didn't want to hear any more. He wished they would all go away.
Ever since he fixed the Shadowlands, all the grownups had come to him with questions, just like they used to go to his grandfather. Gift had left the Domicile and had gone back to his cabin. It wasn't badly damaged by the near collapse. Only a few boards had fallen off the walls. His father had stuffed the holes with rags.
A fire burned in the grate next to Gift and it provided the only warmth in the room. His mother was stretched out on pillows beside him, and his father was manning the doors. The Healers had let his mother come home because they needed the space for all the Fey injured in the Collapse. Almost fifty Fey hurt, and another fifteen died in that short span of time.
The Shaman said that she was sure it meant that Gift's grandfather had died. He had never returned from his trip, and now the Fey were acting like Gift was in charge.
The only one who wasn't was his father. Gift had asked that everyone leave him alone. His father had let in that Spell Warder, Touched.
Touched wore a bandage over the side of his face, half covering his eye. Apparently some wood sliced his cheek open, and bits of the sky had bruised his arms. Unlike some Fey, though, he didn't let that stop him. He was going back to work.
Unfortunately, his work meant bothering Gift.
"Gift," he said, crouching down and prying Gift's hands away from his ears. "I know you and Coulter are friends. I want you to tell him to come back."
"It makes sense, Gift," his father said. "Coulter will know how to stop those Islanders."
Gift didn't understand all this stop and prevent and keep them away stuff. The only Islanders he had ever seen were Coulter and Adrian. He had seen some on his Link journey, and one of the ones he had seen was his real father.
"Coulter doesn't want to come back," Gift said. That much he understood. That much he knew. Coulter liked the Outside. He said it was pretty. He asked Gift to visit sometime. What Coulter didn't know was that Gift had been visiting the Outside his whole life --without leaving Shadowlands.
"We need him," Touched said.
Gift pulled his hand free and clapped it over his ear. "No."
He could still hear through his hands. But the symbolism worked. His father said softly to Touched, "I think you'll have to try again later."
Touched stood. "That's what you said the last time. Can't you make him understand — ?"
"He's still a child." His mother spoke softly, tiredly, as if each word were an effort. "It seems clear to him. And frankly, I think it is. What you and Rotin did to that boy in the Warders cabin would frighten anyone away for good. Even if you bring him back he won't help."
Gift frowned. Help? Help with what? That was the thing they never explained. They said that Coulter could stop some poison, but Gift had never seen that poison. Then they said that poison had killed his real mother — and that had been icky — but Gift had a better answer than bringing Coulter back. Never get near a black robe. Never leave Shadowlands. Then no one needed to stop the poison. The poison wouldn't get to them.
Gift's father said it wasn't that easy, but Gift wondered. They weren't explaining everything to him, and until he understood, he would listen to Coulter. Coulter had saved his life.
Touched put a hand on his head. Gift moved away.
"Gift," Touched said very loud, "please let me talk to you."
"No!" Gift said. He was done with this. He had saved them, like the Shaman said, and now they wanted more. When they found more holes in Shadowlands, he fixed them. When they asked for a new way to open the Circle Door, he found it. He was tired. He hadn't had a nap in days, and he wanted to talk to his mom. She still seemed really sick and he was worried about her, even though everybody said she was getting better.
"Gift," his father said. "Please."
"No!" Gift said. "Go away." Gift stood up. The only way he would get what he wanted was to be bad. He hated it when no one listened to him. Even when he was important no one listened. But they would listen now.
He took his hands off his ears, looked up at Touched, and screamed, "Get out!"
"Gift …" His mother sounded disappointed in him.
Gift didn't care. "Get out! Get out! Get out!"
Touched took his hand off Gift's head. "I wish you'd listen Ñ"
"No!" Gift yelled. "Get out!"
Touched shot a glance at Gift's father, who shrugged. Then Touched opened the
door and left. Gift's father closed the door and leaned on it.
"That was wrong, Gift."
Gift shook his head. "You guys are wrong. You tell me to listen. I did listen. I said no. He didn't listen."
"But if Coulter comes back," his father said, "then he'll help us."
"No, he won't," Gift said. "He likes those people. He says it's pretty out there."
His mother propped herself on one elbow. Some color had returned to her face, but there were still deep shadows under her eyes. "You've talked to him?"
Gift nodded. "He wanted to know if I was all right. And then he wanted to know if he could still talk to me when I was far away." Gift made it sound simple, but it wasn't. Coulter had let him look through Coulter's eyes at the new place, the small square building amid all the dark brown. The sky was blue and the air smelled sharp, unlike anything Gift had ever experienced before. Adrian and a yellow-haired man were hugging and laughing and they looked really happy. A Fey was standing with them, and he seemed safe. Gift couldn't understand why everyone here made things seem so difficult.
"If you can communicate with him," his father said, "I don't understand why you don't ask him to come back. We need him here."
"I asked," Gift said. "I asked once. And he said he would never come back because they tried to kill him here."
"The Warders must have treated him harshly," his mother said. "I don't think harassing Gift will bring Coulter back."
"We need that boy," his father said.
"We had him for a long time. No one knew what he was."
"But we know now."
"And we waited too long." His mother sighed and adjusted her position slightly so that she rested on the arm that wasn't hurt. Her wings were still damaged and if they wiggled, the pain was evident on her face. "We chased him away. We can't pretend we didn't. And we can't pretend he'll help us now."
"But he has no place to go," his father said.
"Yes, he does," Gift said. "He's got a safe place."
"Where?" his father asked.
"Don't make him answer," his mother said. "Gift doesn't belong in this. He's done the right thing. He's said that Coulter wants to remain Outside. I say let him."
"You didn't see the entire team die," his father said. "We need an antidote."
She nodded. "We do. But we won't get it if we have to rely on that boy. We treated him too badly. We will need to wait for another Enchanter."
"You sound so calm."
"I am," she said. "Rugar is gone. Dead, probably. We will be able to take care of our destiny now. Gift will become our Leader one day, and if he does, maybe Coulter will come back and help him. Remember that they're Linked. We just have to have patience."
"I told him not to come back," Gift said.
"What?" his father asked.
"I told him not to," Gift said. He wasn't sure if he was helping his mother's argument or hurting it. "He asked if I needed help when Shadowlands collapsed. I said no."
"See?" his mother said. "That kind of Link is for life."
Gift frowned. He hadn't realized that Links were forever. Something bothered him about that.
"I hope you're right," his father said. He sighed. "I'll explain to Touched that he should wait a while. He won't like that."
"He shouldn't be pressuring a boy," his mother said.
"The boy holds Shadowlands," his father said. "He's our leader now."
"Not yet." His mother smiled at Gift. "He'll have some time to grow up. The Shaman will help him. She's already promised."
"I hope so," his father said. "This situation is too strange to place on the shoulders of a three-year-old."
He let himself out of the cabin. Gift watched him go. His mother smiled. "Let him be, Gift," she said. "He was hoping that he could help you Lead. But Wisps have no place in government. Already he is making mistakes. He thinks that he needs to find a solution because he was the only survivor of that attack on their holy man. He doesn't understand that without Rugar, we probably won't be making those attacks."
"I'd rather listen to you than the Shaman," Gift said.
His mother eased back onto the pillows. She tired so easily these days. "I'm a Wisp too, Gift. I can see a little clearer than your father, but not much. The Shaman is the only one who can help you."
And Coulter, Gift thought, but he said nothing.
"I need some sleep, son," his mother said. She adjusted her pillow with her good hand, and closed her eyes.
He went over to the fire and stared at it. Seeing Coulter had bothered him. Before when he and Coulter talked through the Links it had been like a conversation in his head. But this time, Coulter's personality had stepped aside to let Gift into Coulter's body. Then Gift was standing on that road, looking out of Coulter's eyes, moving Coulter's hands, feeling what Coulter felt. Gift had done that before, not with Coulter, but each time he went to the palace.
But there he didn't know whose eyes he used.
He hadn't realized until this morning that he had been using another body at all.
Once he stepped into Coulter's place, he hadn't felt Coulter any more. Only when he stepped out of the eyes —he didn't know how else to think about it, even though he knew he wasn't physically moving — only then did he feel Coulter's presence again. For a moment, they seemed to be in the same place, able to converse without words.
Gift had been pushing someone aside in the body in the palace.
And that was wrong.
He would hate it if someone did that to him.
It bothered him. He hadn't known he was Linked to his real mother, and he had a thin Link to his real father. But his strong Links outside of Shadowlands were Coulter and this person in the palace. The person he had never thought of.
Then a memory rose:
In his bed, another baby lay. His eyes were open, but empty. The nurse brushed her hand on his cheek.
"You're cold, lambkins," she said.
The little woman huddled in the curtain around the crib. She moved her fingers and the baby cooed. The nurse smiled.
He was staring at the baby that had replaced him. It looked like him, but it was not him. It had been a stone a moment before.
A stone.
He had seen that nurse since, and the room, and now another baby slept in his bed. A girl-baby. His sister.
He was seeing through the Changeling's eyes. Through the eyes of a stone that someone had left in his place.
That his parents, the Wisps, had left in his place.
He didn't want to leave Shadowlands, but maybe, just maybe, he could go Outside whenever he wanted to. That would allow him to see Coulter without anyone knowing. Maybe the stone existed for him to use.
He sat cross-legged on the rug, close to the fire. His father wouldn't be back soon, and his mother's even breathing told him that she was asleep.
He had time to follow the Link.
With his eyes closed, he found the Link and sped along it as he had done countless times. Only this time, when he reached the familiar body, he stopped before stepping into the eyes.
Hello? he called. Hello?
He wanted to make certain he wasn't pushing anyone out of the way.
Hello? he called again.
Then he had an answer. It was faint, and it wasn't in any language he recognized. Just a feeling. He followed the feeling until it led him to a tiny place deep within the body.
There a half-formed boy huddled. He had only the outlines of a body. His face was there but his features were indistinct. He was like a drawing of a child instead of a real child. Or Gift would have thought so if he had not noticed another detail. The half-formed boy was shivering.
Who are you? Gift asked.
The answer came to him, not in the child's voice, but in the voice of several people, some women and a man. Sebastian, they all said.
Sebastian.
It felt familiar.
(You will not give him a common name! He is a Prince in the Black King's line. He needs to
be named as such!)
His mother's voice. His real mother. Fading now, but it had been mixed with all the other voices in the boy's head.
The boy looked up. He apparently had heard the same snatch of memory.
Fey 02 - Changeling Page 65
