Woodbury, Minnesota
The Quicksilver Faire: The Scions of Shadow Trilogy © 2011 by Berta Platas and Michelle Roper.
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To Brian and Sandy, my liaisons at the High Court
of the Shining Ones, Minnesota Division.
And to my family, including the dogs and cats, who
put up with deadline-induced frenzy with good spirits.
It was like having study hall on a roller coaster. Keelie Heartwood could hardly read the spidery lines of the Elven Compendium of Household Charms before her, thanks to the wild motion of the impossibly tiny airplane she was riding in.
Don’t throw up, don’t throw up, don’t throw up. She swallowed hard. Her mantra wasn’t working. The thick pages of the ancient book swayed back and forth as if she were reading on a swing, and the writhing letters jumped on the moving page. It seemed to be a recipe for a charm to turn flowers into weeds.
Pointless, except that the book was written by elves. Keelie was half elven, but she knew that a lot of what the elves did made little sense in the modern world. Case in point: Lord Elianard, her stuffy lore teacher, would be proud of her for reading Elvish writing but he would never stoop to tell her so. She wondered if she’d get extra points for reading on a plane that was staggering through the clouds like a kid in high heels on a sandy beach.
Her seat dropped a foot, roller-coaster style. She grabbed the book’s thick covers to keep it from flying into the aisle as her stomach contents rose into her mouth. She swallowed hard and turned to look out the little window by her elbow, staring at a cloud landscape and the plane’s silvery wing. She wished her boyfriend, Sean, was in the next seat, rather than the bulky carrier that contained Knot the cat. But Sean was sitting in the seat in front of her to allow Knot to stay near Keelie. She could just see the gilded top of one sun-bleached lock of Sean’s hair.
It was the stupid cat’s fault. She had to keep an eye on Knot, who had a fairy’s wicked and inappropriate sense of humor and the power to wreak havoc, a dangerous combination on an airplane of any size. Her old frenemy Elia, Lord Elianard’s daughter, was also on the plane, even farther to the front thanks to their last-minute tickets. Keelie did not miss having her nearby.
The plane dropped again, and then a persistent chime sounded. Her heart pounded as a light began blinking above her head. Seat belt. She took a deep breath. The one thing she could ignore, since she’d never unbuckled hers. Her lips moved with the other words she’d chanted since they’d left Portland: I am safe, I am safe. But this mantra wasn’t working either. She didn’t believe it.
Keelie hated airplanes. They reminded her of her mother’s death last spring, and this commuter jet must be a lot like the one in which Mom had spent the last moments of her life.
She closed the book and put it into her pack, even though it was her only source of distraction. She just couldn’t concentrate. Instead of seeing the tiny picture of flower leaves in the Compendium, she’d envisioned Mom’s plane breaking up in the sky, the passengers cartwheeling like Lego people into the fathomless Pacific. She shook her head, trying to clear it of bad thoughts, and wished once more that she’d checked inside her backpack before getting on the plane. Someone had dumped out her copy of Hall Pass, the novel she’d been dying to read and had finally snagged at the bookstore in town, and replaced it with the Compendium, a massive volume of spells and charms guaranteed to put anyone to sleep in five minutes.
“Someone” was probably Lord Elianard, since her grandmother was still in California, serving as the newly installed tree shepherd of the Redwood Forest.
It was because of her time in the Redwood Forest that Keelie was now headed to the Northwest Territories—to Big Nugget, a dot on the Canadian map, and to the Crystal Faire held there. Unlike the Ren Faires that her elven father, and now she, worked at every summer, which lasted anywhere from a week to the whole season, the Crystal Faire went on year-round, rain or snow. And from what Keelie had heard, they usually got a lot of snow in Big Nugget, along with seriously sub-zero temperatures. But that was months away; it was springtime now. And apparently it had been unnaturally warm, too. Bears had not hibernated over the winter and were wandering the Northwoods, grumpy. Scientists were blaming it on everything from global warming to sun spots.
But Big Nugget and the Crystal Faire were just a stop on her journey. Keelie was really headed to the elven village of Grey Mantle, on Mount Faron, and from there to the fairy High Court. She was on a diplomatic mission. Someone had been giving humans access to magic, and the elves and the fairies were accusing each other of this dangerous deed. Allowing humans to use magic put both the elves and the fae at risk, since preternatural creatures were supposed to keep themselves secret from humans—who, like clumsy children, broke things that fascinated them and which they did not understand.
An angry yowl sounded next to her, and she patted the metal-grate door of the plastic cat carrier strapped to the seat.
Within the darkness of the carrier, large green eyes glowed. Knot the evil kitty pressed his face to the bars and yowled his displeasure again. When she didn’t make a move to open the door, he drew back and the carrier heaved and bounced on the chair as if a monster was in it. The elderly woman across the aisle paled in alarm.
Keelie pasted on the fake smile that she’d perfected from dealing with the evil kitty and aimed it at the woman. “He’s so playful.”
“He seems upset. Is he old? I understand air travel upsets older cats.”
Lady, you wouldn’t believe. Aloud she only said, “Oh no, but then my dad says you’re only as old as you feel.”
The old lady nodded. “A wise man.” She winked. “Of course, he’s probabl
y young too, compared to me.”
Keelie upped the wattage on her smile. Her dad, Zekeliel Heartwood, was over three hundred years old, so this seventy-year-old would be like a baby to him. A wrinkly baby with an expensive hair weave and a fleece top that read, “Watch The Skies, They’re Coming.”
She checked her watch. They should be only minutes from their destination. The flyer for the Crystal Faire crackled in her jeans pocket, and she fished it out and unfolded it on her tray table. The map of the area was marked in thick black pen in her father’s angular hand, his stretched-out letters marking where their escort would wait for them at the airport in Yellowknife.
The plane shook once more, then dropped a few feet like a clunky elevator slipping on its chain. Keelie imagined that this was what Mom felt in her last moments. She’d probably thought that the rough ride would soon be over and she’d be back home in Los Angeles with her feet up, sipping a hot cup of tea. Mom’s trip had been over soon, all right, but not the way she’d expected.
Had she thought about Keelie in those last moments? The school counselor at Baywood Academy had told her that Mom didn’t feel a thing, that she’d died instantly, but Keelie doubted it. She’d watched TV shows about planes going down. There were flames, and screaming, and stuff tossed around the cabins, crashing into people and seats. Mom would have been afraid, and maybe sad.
Her jeans pocket buzzed. She looked around; no one had noticed. She wiped her eyes and jimmied the smooth, oiled-wood cell phone out of her pocket.
This wasn’t a real cell phone like her friends in California used. Nope, this was an elven-made phone, and it was charmed to connect all of the forests through the trees, making communications between the technology-phobic elves easier.
She answered cautiously, feeling sure that whatever magic powered the phone would not interfere with the plane’s navigation instruments, but hunching over nonetheless. The flight attendant and other passengers wouldn’t understand.
“Keelie, what’s happening on that plane?” demanded her father’s voice.
“Nothing, Dad. We’ll be landing soon. Why’d you call? It’s illegal, you know.”
“You need to stop thinking sad thoughts,” her father commanded. He hadn’t been quite so bossy before, but he was Lord of the Dread Forest now and it seemed to have gone to his head.
“Dad, I’m on a plane,” she whispered. “I’ll call when we land and you can give me a pep talk then.”
“Keelie, feel the forest—you’re broadcasting your fears and grief. I can hear them all the way in Oregon.”
Uh oh. Keelie opened her tree sense, the part of her mind that gave her a direct link to the forests. When they’d first gotten to know each other a year ago, Dad had been surprised that her connection to the forests was so strong—her mother was human, and Keelie had grown up far from the woods. But her connection to the trees had grown deeper with every moment Keelie spent with the elves. What she’d thought, as a child, was an extreme allergy to wood turned out to be an affinity that allowed her to identify the origins and species of everything wooden, from toothpicks to doors and furniture. If it was wood, it spoke to her.
She connected to the forest thousands of feet below her, and jumped as she felt the wail of the trees. She extended her touch, then shrank back in her airplane seat as the full force of the trees’ anguish flooded her. It seemed familiar, which made it even more horrible as she realized why. It was her grief for Mom, amplified, expanded, and infecting thousands of acres of forest. Not exactly the best way to make a good impression on the Northwoods elves.
“What do I do?” Her voice was hoarse.
“Relax, and link your power to mine.”
A thread of green light seemed to wrap itself around her power. The familiar feel of Dad’s magic fortified hers, and she let her darker-hued power sink, melting into the sparkling green.
A moment later she felt calm, adrift in peace. Below her, the trees relaxed, quieted. Sorry, she whispered in tree speak.
“Beg pardon?” The old lady leaned across the aisle.
“Just chatting with my cat.” Keelie turned off the cell phone and put it away. The chime sounded, but there was no more turbulence.
“We are now approaching Yellowknife Airport,” said the captain’s calm voice. “Please fasten your seat belts as we start our descent.” Twenty minutes later, they landed with a small, anticlimactic bump.
As soon as they were allowed to stand, Sean popped up over the headrest of the seat in front, his blond surfer hair flipped into his eyes. Except he wasn’t a surfer. He was a jouster, riding horses for a living in a warrior sport that was old four hundred years ago. He was now the head of the Silver Bough Jousters, his father’s troupe, which had headed to the High Mountain Faire in Colorado without him. Keelie knew he resented coming here, but then, so did she. At least they’d get to spend more time together.
“I’ll wait for you outside. Everything okay?” His eyes flicked to Knot’s cage. The two of them had a rocky history.
“Yeah, now that we’re on solid ground,” Keelie said. “Where’s Elia?” Speaking of rocky.
Sean turned and looked around. He shrugged, lifting an eyebrow.
Keelie and Sean waited until everyone else deplaned, leaving just the crew and someone in the bathroom—likely Elia. Keelie lifted the carrier and looked in at her cat, who stared back impassively. But he couldn’t fake his reaction to flying—his eyes were dilated to the size of dimes.
“Poor widdle kiddy scared? Aw.”
Knot hissed a promise that she’d pay for making fun of him.
“Don’t worry, we’ll be off this plane in just a bit.” She scrambled out of the row and grabbed her carry-on bag from the overhead bin, then headed down the narrow aisle, making sure to bang the cat carrier against the back of each empty seat. No point wasting the opportunity. The contrary cat’s purr filled the cabin.
As they passed the bathroom, Keelie wrinkled her nose at the sound of its occupant being very sick inside. Definitely Elia.
“Gross,” she muttered. At least it hadn’t happened out where everyone could participate in the nausea.
Blue sky showed through the jet’s narrow open door. The air was brisk, and instead of a Jetway to the inside of a concourse, a flight of painted wooden stairs on a wheeled platform led down to a pitted tarmac. Very classy. A colorful bus was being loaded with luggage, everyone from the plane crowding around it.
From the top of the stairs, Keelie saw walls of green forest. The hills and mountains surrounding the valley were densely wooded, a throbbing presence that made her itch as its magic skittered over her skin. Her work awaited her in these mountains—the mission she’d been sent on. According to her father and the Elven Council of the Dread Forest, the High Court fae were on the brink of war with the Northwoods elves over who had caused magic to leak to the humans, and the conflict could spread worldwide in very little time. Despite her inexperience, Keelie’s part-fairy, part-elf blood made her father think that she was best suited for the job of arbitrator. Other elves disagreed, but Dad was Lord of the Dread Forest. On top of that, Lord Norzan, the tree shepherd of the Northwoods, had specifically requested Keelie. He’d been impressed with what she’d done to save the Redwood Forest.
“You’d think they’d send someone more qualified than a sixteen-year-old mall rat,” Keelie muttered aloud. She knew she’d proven herself to be more than a kid, but had no idea where the extent of her powers came from. Knot meowed from inside the crate and she looked at him. “Not from you, furface.” The cat was freaky, but not telepathic. At least she didn’t think he was. His kitty lips spread in a smile.
“Right. Time to get started. I can’t wait to see who Elia’s family has sent to greet us.” Elia had come on the trip to meet her kin in Grey Mantle.
“Someone nice, I’m sure,” Elia said from behind her.
Her hair hung in two tight yellow braids and her eyes were as gorgeous as ever, but the elf girl’s skin was greenish. She clutched the sides of the plane’s doorway.
“You look like you have chlorophyll poisoning, but I know it’s morning sickness.” Keelie tried to sound sympathetic. “Need some crackers? Maybe there’s a vending machine around here.”
Elia put her hand over the little swell that bumped out her embroidered tunic. “I swear it was dancing a jig,” she moaned.
“Maybe you should have listened to Uncle Dariel and stayed home,” Keelie said. Dariel was the Unicorn Lord of the Dread Forest, and he’d stayed behind, cross. Even though Keelie called Dariel “uncle,” she just couldn’t bring herself to start calling Elia “aunt.”
“Dariel wanted me to come,” Elia said sharply, her attitude resurfacing. “He wouldn’t keep me from meeting my people.”
“Yeah, he’s nice that way.” Keelie picked her way down the rickety steep stairs (pine, with lots of lead paint suffocating the wood).
Sean was standing in front of the long wooden building that occupied one side of the single runway. The bus had rumbled off, leaving them alone. It was like the set of a zombie movie. Keelie joined him, looking around. “I wonder if the elves keep their rescue helicopters here or up in Grey Mantle?” she said. The Northwoods elves were famous for their teams of Healers, who traveled far to aid other elves.
A figure, wearing the Healers of the Northwoods uniform, stepped around the end of the building. Keelie recognized the outfit from the Redwood Forest, when they’d evacuated Norzan. She’d been surprised to see the Healers lift off in a sleek helicopter, a reminder that elves had modern resources even if they sometimes seemed stuck in the Middle Ages.
No helicopter was in evidence anywhere around the airfield.
The Healer elf strode toward them, then bowed. “I’m Miszrial of the Stones, here to drive you to our village.” She had thin lips, a beaky nose, and yellow hair scraped back from her face, making her look like a hawk in uniform.
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