R. Anderson - Rebel

A tingling heat raced up his back, and all his hair stood on end. Timothy knew at once that he’d been touched by magic-but as the electric feeling died, he realized that the iron key in his pocket was still protecting him.

Relieved, he scrambled around the side of the hill and back onto the footpath. The ravens wheeled above him, regrouping for another try…no, wait. There was only one of them now. Where was the other? He looked around-and a great black shape leaped into him, snarling.

Timothy tumbled flat onto his back, rigid with horror as he stared up into the glowering eyes of an enormous hound. It bared its teeth, and hot breath steamed over his face, reeking of carrion. Then a word rumbled up from its throat, slurring over the dog’s lips and tongue but horribly comprehensible just the same:

“ Checkmate.”

He couldn’t see Linden anywhere. Not that it mattered: There was nothing she could do. You didn’t warn us they could be dogs, too, Rob.

The dog reared up, heavy paws lifting from his shoulders-and suddenly he felt a booted foot on his chest instead. “I know about the iron you carry,” said a cool voice, and he looked up into the faery’s hard, contemptuous eyes. “Attempt to touch it, and I will snap your neck.”

The remaining raven flapped down onto the path, folded its wings-and became another male faery, like a slightly flawed copy of the first. He flexed his stiff arm and winced, then slapped his brother on the shoulder and broke into a grin. “Good hunting, Corbin.”

“The hunt is not over yet,” said the taller Blackwing, his eyes still on Timothy. “The little rebel escaped-but in that small form, she cannot fly far. We will take her soon enough.”

“How did you…find us?” gasped Timothy. The Blackwings didn’t know about the Children of Rhys; if he kept them talking long enough, then Linden might be able to fly to one of the magical islands, out of their reach. “Thought we’d thrown you off the scent.”

“We track by magic, not some human stench,” said Corbin with contempt. “With a hair from the girl’s head in our possession, all we needed to catch you was patience and time.” Then he leaned down and said softly, “But where, I wonder, were you headed? And what did you hope to find there?”

Timothy faked a fit of coughing, buying himself a few precious seconds to think. “We were looking for some…magical plants. They’re…supposed to grow around here. Because Linden’s Queen…she’s dying.”

Corbin made a scornful noise. “And for this you chose to throw in your lot with the Forsaken, and risk your very life? Only a fool would believe such a tale.”

“She promised me…gold…if I helped,” Timothy wheezed. “As much as I wanted.”

Behind them, the injured Blackwing laughed. “Gold! Say rather a handful of acorns and a few withered leaves, for that is all you would have in the end.”

“Indeed,” said Corbin, and the pressure on Timothy’s chest eased a little. “And where is your faery companion now? Flying away from you as fast as her wings will carry her. So much for your hopes of reward.” He stepped back, nodding at his brother. “Byrne, guard him. I will catch the girl.” And with that he shifted back into raven form and flapped off down the hillside.

Until then Timothy had lain limp on the rocky ground, offering no resistance. But all the while he and Corbin were talking, he’d been inching his fingers toward his pocket. Now he risked everything on a sudden snatch at the key — but he’d only just pulled it out when Byrne kicked his elbow, and the key went flying. As Timothy’s only weapon clattered against the rocks and tumbled out of sight, the faery grabbed him and wrenched him to his feet.

“That was foolish, boy,” he breathed, his dark eyes gleaming. “Very foolish.” He hooked his fingers, and Timothy jerked back “Let him go!” shrilled Linden’s voice from behind them, and the male faery whirled, his grip on Timothy loosening. Timothy’s ankle still throbbed and his side felt as though it were splitting open, but he planted his feet and shoved Byrne as hard as he could.

The Blackwing swayed, lost his footing, and toppled down the hillside. “Come on!” Linden shouted at Timothy, and he lurched after her, mouthing ow with every step.

From somewhere behind him came a raven’s croaking call, then an answering cry from the far side of the hill. But Linden darted straight toward the ocean, and Timothy forced himself to ignore the pain and just run, run, run down the lessening slope until at last the pebbles and dry scrub gave way to green grass, and he could see the waves smashing against the rocks far below.

“What do I do now?” he yelled at Linden, as the frigid sea wind whipped his hair into his eyes. “I can’t fly!”

“This way!” she shouted back, pointing to a narrow trail that slanted down from the cliff’s edge. At its foot lay a smudge of sandy beach, a scant half-moon of a cove, where two tall stones stuck out of the water like the ruins of some ancient Roman gate. “Can’t you feel it? It’s magic!”

So this was where Linden had gone, when the Blackwings thought she’d deserted him. She could have flown straight to the Children of Rhys for help, but instead she’d scouted out this cove, and then returned to the hillside to rescue Timothy and bring him there. As plans went it was noble, impractical, and built mostly on faith-in short, just like her.

But all these thoughts flashed through his mind in an instant, as Timothy scrambled onto the trail and began to pick his way downward as fast as he could go. Still, between his twisted ankle and his bleeding side he had a hard time of it, and he knew that at any second the ravens would swoop down upon him…

“Where are they?” demanded Byrne’s voice from the top of the cliff.

Timothy froze.

“They cannot have vanished into the air,” replied Corbin’s cooler tones. “No doubt the girl has merely cast a glamour to throw us off their trail. But the finding spell will-” He stopped, and when he spoke again his voice was flat: “Impossible.”

“You can’t find them? Let me try.” A pause, and then: “Her magic must be stronger than we thought. But the boy will still have footprints and a scent, no matter what glamour she puts on him. You fly that way, I’ll go back around the hill…”

Flattened against the cliff face, Timothy listened in disbelief as the sound of the Blackwings’ voices faded away. They’d tracked him and Linden all the way out here, only to lose them at the last moment-but how?

Linden was waiting for him at the bottom of the path, human size once more. The waves washed foam around her feet, and the breeze lifted her brown curls in all directions. “Look up!” she called excitedly. “Look at the sky!”

Timothy shot a wary glance upward-and saw only empty, cloudless blue. Even the wind that had been tugging at his jacket had subsided, and there was no sign of the Blackwings anywhere.

“The glamour around this cove is incredibly strong,” Linden said. “I don’t think the Blackwings could even see it-or us either, once we’d started down here. We must be very close to the Children of Rhys.”

Legs wobbly with the effort of clambering down the path, Timothy edged the last few feet and stumbled onto the sand beside her. He dusted the grit and lichen off his hands, then straightened up and looked out at the sea. The mist over the ocean had cleared, and the sun shone summer bright; he had a perfect view of the first of the magical islands, framed between the two ancient stones that rose up from the water. But it was still just as far away as ever-and they had no boat.

“What now?” he said.

Linden gazed out at the island, and her expression became distant. She raised her hand and touched her ear, cupping her palm against her cheek as they had seen Martin do on the train. “Children of Rhys,” she said. “We have come a long way to seek your help. Please, speak to us.”