That was all that really mattered. That they were safe.
Right now the jackknife was folded up in the pocket of her jeans. In her hands was a three-foot-long branch that she’d picked up under the trees. It hadn’t been her first choice. She’d kept selecting and hefting various branches as she continued to sneak up on the bee fairy until she finally found one with enough weight that it didn’t feel as though it would break on the first strike.
It was hard to stay quiet. If this part of the wood hadn’t been sprucy-pine, she probably would have been noticed by now, but the ground was thick with a carpet of needles, spongy and silent underfoot. Every time she did make some noise—stepped on a twig, pushed through the occasional bush—she stopped and crouched low, not daring to breathe, hoping the bee fairy would think it was only a squirrel or bird.
Maybe it was true that the Dillards had some Indian blood in them, she thought as she managed to creep almost up on the footman without his noticing her.
Okay, this was it.
She straightened up, took a long, deep breath, and stepped forward, swinging the branch. The branch connected with the back of his head and he grunted, toppling forward, his spear falling from his hand. The footman landed on his hands, down, but not out. The force of her blow stung the palms of Adie’s hands enough that she almost lost her grip on the branch. The footman was already half rising and turning in her direction.
They’re not people, Adie reminded herself. They’re nasty stinging insects. It’s hurt them or be hurt by them.
Just as he was about to call out for help, she swung the branch again and caught him in the temple. This time he went down and lay still.
Adie dropped the branch and had to go down on one knee. She was shaking so hard she didn’t think she could stand. Bile rose in her throat, but she made herself take a few steadying breaths until the queasiness passed and she was able to get back on her feet. Picking up her stick, she held it ready and nudged the footman with her foot. He remained motionless. She tried again. When he still didn’t move, she switched her branch for his spear and began to work her way back to the meadow where the fairy court held her sisters captive.
She arrived just in time to see one of the queen’s footmen kill a fat little man who looked like a bumblebee, then aim his bow in Grace’s direction.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Elsie
s soon as Ruth and Grace began to mouth off to the fairy queen, Elsie shook her head. She couldn’t believe that they were being their usual incorrigible selves at a time like this. Didn’t they know that they were only making things worse?
And speaking of things getting worse, any moment now, the bee fairies were going to notice that Adie was gone.
Checking that nobody was looking in her direction, she got to her feet and looked around for something that she could use as a weapon. She wished her legs didn’t feel like jelly, that her heart wasn’t lodged in her throat. That she could take at least one deep breath.
Why couldn’t she be as brave as Adie, just getting up and doing what needed to be done?
She glanced back at the fairy court, then watched in horror as the queen had one of her footmen shoot the fat little man standing by the twins. The queen gave a second order and he notched another arrow and aimed it at Grace.
Elsie’s protective instincts sent a surge of adrenaline through her so that she could move again. There was no time to worry if Adie was in position or not. Now was the time for the diversion. But just as she was trying to decide between running around shrieking like a madwoman or picking up a stick and attacking her captors, Sarah Jane, Laurel, and Bess suddenly came dancing into the glade, paying no attention to the gathering of bee fairies.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Sarah Jane
felt like a guerrilla soldier as we made our way toward where the bee fairy court held my sisters captive. Li’l Pater led the way, which didn’t particularly thrill me, but both the Apple Tree Man and the ’sangmen deferred to him in this, explaining that moving between the worlds could be tricky. The Apple Tree Man only went back and forth through his tree, while the ’sangmen crossed between their ’sang patches in either world. So without someone like Li’l Pater, we might end up miles from where we needed to be, or at a disadvantage as we all tried to sneak out of the Apple Tree Man’s tree without being seen.
Li’l Pater brought us out of the fairies’ world and back into our own—right in the woods above Aunt Lillian’s orchard. At one point he held up a hand for us to stop while he crept ahead. When he finally waved at us to follow, I spied one of the bee fairies unconscious behind a tree, trussed up with grass ropes. It seemed Li’l Pater was fiercer than you’d think from the size of him.
And then I saw the bee court and my sisters in the meadow below and realized he’d played us fair in this as well.
“I guess I misjudged you,” I told him.
He was pretty gracious about it, except for a little smirk in one corner of his mouth.
“Oh, that’s all right,” he said. “I know you big folks can’t help being the way you are.”
“Yes, well, it’s not like we—”
“You’ll be careful,” Aunt Lillian whispered, crouching beside us.
I nodded, wondering if she’d interrupted to stop me and Li’l Pater from getting into another argument. Probably. Not much got past Aunt Lillian. And though I was trying my best to hold my tongue, Li’l Pater didn’t make it easy.
I turned from them to stare out at the bee fairies. They were more like the way I’d always pictured fairies in my head—sort of special and scary, all at once. Where the ’sangmen were all rooty and earthy, the bee fairies were bright and shining, sharp-featured and tall. Some rode horses, and they had a pack of lean dogs that had Root penned up against the Apple Tree Man’s tree.
Root wasn’t paying any attention to them. He was just staring at that tree—waiting for us to come back out again, I guess.
Looking back toward the fairy court, I picked out the red heads of my sisters. Grace and Ruth were easy to spot—they looked like they’d just been brought in and were the center of everybody’s attention. It took me a little longer to find Elsie, up higher by a beech tree. I couldn’t see Adie, and my heart started racing. I had to hope she was just lying down in the grass, out of sight.
While I was studying the fairy court, the ’sangmen slipped away from us, taking up positions all along the edge of the woods, close to where we’d arrived. They carried stout cudgels and spears, knives and short bows with arrows made of some kind of dark wood and fletched with what looked like owl feathers. The ’sangmen would be our backup if the Apple Tree Man’s plan didn’t work out.
Seeing the size of the bee court, I was surely hoping it wouldn’t come to a fight. There were way too many of the bee fairies for my liking.
Taking a steadying breath, I turned to Laurel and Bess.
“Remember,” I warned them as we were about to leave our hidey-hole on the edge of the meadow. “No matter what happens, not a word.”
Bess mimed a zipper closing from one corner of her mouth to the other.
“Hey,” Laurel asked the Apple Tree Man. “Is it okay if we hum while we’re doing this?”
“I don’t see why not,” he told them.
“And we could dance, too,” Bess said, “till we get up close.”
Laurel nodded. “But something slow. I vote for ‘Shenandoah.’ ”
“Incongruous dancing is an excellent way to get their attention,” the Apple Tree Man assured them.
“What do you think, Janey?” Laurel asked, turning to me.
“Why not?” I said.
Nothing seemed real anyway.
I looked away from them, back toward the bee court. The queen looked angry. She said something that I couldn’t quite hear from where we were. But then she slashed her arm in a downward direction and one of her footmen just up and shot an arrow into the throat of a fat little man standing by the twins. My stomach lurched
as he dropped to the ground, blood pouring out of his neck.
Suddenly the bowman had another arrow notched and was aiming it straight at Grace.
“Oh, please, no,” I said. “Let’s go. Now.”
I turned to Laurel and Bess. Their tomfoolery had drained away along with the blood in their faces.
We were all feeling a little shaky as we came dancing our way out of the trees, Laurel and Bess humming that old tune in two-part harmony, all of us with handfuls of grass in one fist, the pieces cut to lengths of six or seven inches.
Please, please, please, I silently prayed. Let this work. Don’t let them shoot Grace like they did that little man.
The bee court spotted us and a soft buzzing murmur arose, but I didn’t dare look at them. I just concentrated on what I was doing, trying to be strange, dramatic, and graceful all at once. I wasn’t nearly so nimble on my feet as the twins beside me, but I did my best.
Laurel and Bess got right into it, accustomed as they were to being onstage, performing in front of an audience, though I guess they’d never been in front of one this strange before. Compared to them I felt like a klutz, but I could take the embarrassment if it rescued my sisters.
About halfway between the trees and the bee court, we started laying down our blades of grass. We did it with deliberation, like it had meaning, just the way the Apple Tree Man had told us.
“Doesn’t matter what it is you do,” he’d said, “just so long as it’s long past curious and you do it with conviction. And don’t answer them when they ask what you’re doing—just keep at it.”
“But what if they get mad at us?”
“Oh, they’ll get mad all right. But so long as you keep at it, they won’t be able to help themselves. They’ll just have to know what you’re doing. Maybe they’ll threaten you, maybe they’ll threaten your sisters, but you stick it out. There’ll come a point when they’ll start bribing you with anything and everything you might imagine.”
“I’ve got a pretty good imagination,” Laurel said.
Bess poked her in the side, but she smiled.
“You hold on,” the Apple Tree Man told us, “until they offer you a boon—that’s the only time you stop and look straight at them.”
So that’s what we did. I could feel a terrible twitch up between my shoulder blades. I kept expecting that bowman to turn from Grace and shoot his arrow at one of us instead.
Anywise, like I said, halfway between them and the woods, we started making those patterns with the blades of grass, laying them on the ground, carefully studying what we’d done, then laying another. Nothing that made sense, but we acted like it was the most important thing in the world, and I suppose it was, considering what all was at stake.
I didn’t look at the bee court, but I could hear them murmuring as I laid another blade of grass down, looked at it for a moment, changed its position, then did this slow soft-step to the side, where I set two more down. Laurel and Bess were doing the same, with their usual self-assurance, I thought, until I noticed Bess’s hand trembling as she worked on the pattern she was building.
“What are they doing?” I heard someone snap.
It was a woman’s voice—imperious and sharp. It had to be the queen.
Another voice murmured something apologetic that I couldn’t make out.
“Well, find out,” the queen demanded.
I saw a footman approach Laurel. He poked her in the back with the end of his bow.
“You there,” he said. “What are you doing?”
Her humming faltered, then died, leaving Bess to do a harmony on her own until she, too, stopped. Laurel turned to look at the footman and gave him a sweet smile that only me being her sister let me know she was a hair’s breadth away from blowing her top.
Don’t, don’t, I thought. Don’t talk to them. Don’t tell them what we’re doing.
But she held it in, though I guess being Laurel, she just had to ad-lib some.
“Cabbages need their kings, too,” she said, then went back to what she was doing.
“What is that supposed to mean?” the queen shouted.
The footman poked Laurel again, but this time she completely ignored him. He turned his attention to me.
“You heard our queen,” he said.
I thought I was ready for his poke, but I was in the middle of bending down and it made me lose my balance all the same. I went down on one shaking knee, expecting him to hit me or shoot me or I don’t know what, but I made a point of laying out two more blades of grass, carefully arranging them, before getting back to my feet again.
“This is a trick of some kind,” the queen said.
Of course it was. And it seemed that some others in the court thought the same, from the glimpses I snatched of them. But I could also see that the Apple Tree Man had been right: They were thoroughly mesmerized by what we were doing, trying to figure it all out.
“Just shoot one of them,” the queen ordered.
I forgot to breathe then. The twitch between my shoulder blades intensified. I knew the ’sangmen were ready to come charging out of the woods to help us, but at least one of us would die before they could do anything.
The fat little man who’d been standing with Ruth and Grace returned to my mind’s eye.
The way the arrow flew into his throat.
The blood.
Seconds slipped by and I dared a glance at the bee fairies, quickly laying another blade of grass as I did. None of them had an arrow notched. They’d just come closer, trying to get a better look at what we were doing.
“You!” the queen cried to one of the footmen near me. “Shoot her.”
But the footman was paying rapt attention to us, rather than her.
I did another dancey side step, even though Laurel and Bess weren’t humming their tune anymore, and carefully laid down three more blades of grass in a triangular pattern.
The queen shouted at another of her footmen, and then at one of the riders who had dismounted to come closer. They both stared at our grass patterns and ignored her.
“Then I’ll do it myself,” the queen said.
She stepped to the footman standing closest to her and reached for his bow.
But before the queen could grab the bow, there came this god-awful cry from the woods where we’d left the ’sangmen. Anybody lives in these hills for a time knows that sound. It’s the scream of a panther. You don’t see them much at all, but time to time you’ll hear that terrible cry of theirs, like a woman or child wailing in pain.
The cry was repeated, this time followed by a weird pat-pat-pat sound that seemed loud in the sudden stillness. I tried to figure out what it was. Then I remembered Aunt Lillian’s stories about the Father of Cats and the sound his tail made as it slapped the ground.
The sound stopped everybody in their tracks, including the queen.
“The Father of Cats,” I heard one of the fairies closest to me say in awe.
The queen shook off her paralysis and reached for the bow again, but the footman stepped back, pulling it out of her reach.
“I… I’m sorry, madam,” he said. “But the Father of Cats has spoken.”
I figured for sure she’d blow her stack at that. Instead, she sighed and walked over to where I continued my strange ritual of laying grass patterns.
“Very well,” she said, blocking my way. “Let’s end this nonsense, child. Tell me what you’re doing and I’ll give you the gift of your sisters’ lives.”
I ignored her, just as the Apple Tree Man had told me to, though I was surely tempted. But getting away from the bee fairies this one time wasn’t enough. What was to stop them from coming after us again?
“You want more?” the queen asked. “What? Treasure? A long life? Good luck in love? A cure for your miserable freckles?”
I laid blades of grass at her feet, making a shape that started by her toe and then moved away till it looked like a fan.
“Answer me,” the queen said.
I s
tarted to hum “Shenandoah,” but I never could hold much of a tune. Luckily, first Bess, then Laurel picked it up, replacing my weak voice with their strong harmonies. I moved away from the queen to lay down more grass.
“Child,” the queen said, her voice hard.
I took a pebble from my pocket and laid it on the ground, then balanced a blade of grass upon it.
“Offer her a boon,” one of the other fairies said.
“Why should I? Perhaps I’ll change her into a toad,” the queen replied. “We’ll see how well she dances and sings and lays down those ridiculous blades of grass then.”
Could she even do that? Probably. She was magic, after all.
I heard a higher-pitched buzzing and saw that some of the bee fairies were tinier than I thought possible. I’d never noticed them before, though I had noticed the bees they were riding. I just hadn’t realized there were little people on them until some flew right under my nose, trying to get a closer look at what I was doing.
“Offer her a boon,” either the same bee fairy or another repeated.
“A boon, a boon,” more of them took up, their little voices echoing across the meadow.
The queen said nothing for such a long time that I finally had to sneak a peek at her.
“Well, child?” she said. “Is that what it will take to unravel this mystery for us?”
I laid down one more blade of grass, then straightened up until I was facing her. She stood a full head taller than me, imperious and threatening. I gave a quick nod.
“Then ask your boon,” she said. “But remember this: If you’ve played us for fools, if all this game of dancing and blades of grass is only so much nonsense, the bargain will be undone.”
I let the last of my grass fall to the ground and clasped my hands in front of me.
“What are the limits of the boon you will grant?” I asked, repeating what the Apple Tree Man had told me to say when it came to this moment.
The queen’s eyes narrowed and I knew that she realized I’d been coached, but there wasn’t much she could do about it at this point.
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