R. Anderson - Rebel

Long seconds passed, but the only sound was the waves crashing into the nearby cliffs. Linden’s face creased with disappointment, and she let her hand fall. “I really thought,” she began-but before she could finish the sentence the air between the standing stones shimmered, and a little boat slid out of nothingness to glide across the waves toward them. It drew up on the beach at Linden’s feet, empty and waiting.

“You have called the Plant Rhys Ddwfn, ” said a melodious Welsh-accented voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere: It could have been a man’s light tenor or a woman’s contralto, it was impossible to tell. “And we have answered. But we cannot allow strangers to set foot upon our islands unless we are certain that they are trustworthy. Will you turn away, or seek to pass the test?”

As a child in Sunday School, Timothy had tried to imagine how the “still, small voice” of God had sounded when the prophet Elijah heard it in the wilderness. Now he felt as though he knew. “What test?” he asked, and the words sounded impossibly loud and coarse in his own ears.

“The questions are these,” came the reply. “Do you honor the wishes of your ancestors, and obey those who have rule over you? Are you honest in all your dealings, forsaking treachery or deceitfulness? Are your hands clean of violence, and your heart free of envy and selfish ambition? If so, you are welcome among us. If not, you must forbear.”

Timothy was taken aback. He had been expecting some test of skill or intelligence, not a boiled-down version of the Ten Commandments. There was no way he could answer all of those questions honestly and still hope to win the Children of Rhys’s approval-but if he lied to them, would they know?

“I honor my foster mothers and my Queen,” said Linden. Her voice shook a little, but her expression was resolute. “Though I have not always obeyed them perfectly. I have kept my bargains with my neighbors and not deceived them. I have harmed no one, and I come to you not for my own sake, but for the sake of my people.”

There was a pause, and then the voice said, “You may come.”

Linden relaxed, and broke into a smile. She stepped into the little boat and sat down.

“Speak, human,” said the voice.

Timothy licked his dry lips, not knowing what to say. He remembered the stunned look on Luke Barfield’s round face when he realized that Timothy had just hit him. He thought of how he’d lied to the dean by writing that fake email to his parents, not wanting to admit to what he’d really done, or why. He’d yelled at Peri when she was just trying to protect the Oakenfolk, tried to bully Linden into using glamour against her conscience, resented the Jenkinses’ hospitality even as he’d stuffed his face with their food and slept in the bed they’d made up for him…

He said roughly to Linden, “You go on. I’ll wait here.”

“The tide is rising,” said the disembodied voice. “You cannot remain in this place. If you will not answer our questions, then you must return the way you came, and there meet whatever fate awaits you.”

Meaning the Blackwing brothers. Timothy swallowed and said, “I can’t pass your test. I’ve lied-and dishonored my parents-and hit people who didn’t deserve it. So I guess…” He looked back at the cliffside trail, and sickness burned the back of his throat. “I’ll have to leave.”

“Wait!” Linden scrambled out of the boat and ran to Timothy, catching his arm before he could turn away. She spoke urgently to the air: “He’s told you the truth, about the things he’s done. But he’s also been loyal and kind and brave. And now he’s willing to go back up there all alone and surrender himself to our enemies for my sake-doesn’t that count for something, too?”

There was a lengthy pause, filled only by the murmur of the wind and waves. Linden tightened her grip on Timothy, afraid that she had offended the Children and that now they would both be turned away. But at last the voice spoke again:

“Human, by your own admission you have violated the laws of our forefather Rhys. But for the sake of your faery companion, we will let you pass-if you repent of your wrongdoing, and pledge to be honest and true hereafter. Do you so promise?”

Timothy looked stunned, and for several long seconds he didn’t speak. But at last he said hoarsely, “I’ll try.”

“Then you may come.”

Hesitantly Timothy followed Linden to the boat and climbed in. It slipped back into the water as though pushed by some invisible hand, and soon they were bobbing across the waves toward the pillared gate.

Linden had never been in a boat before, and the sensation delighted her. The ocean breeze fluttered her hair, and cold spray washed her face as she leaned forward, gaze fixed eagerly on the island ahead. The boat crested a wave, rocked downward as it passed between the two stones-and then in a flash they came aground again, white sand furrowing up on both sides of the boat as it glided onto an unfamiliar shore.

“In the name of Rhys Ddwfn I greet you,” said a voice that sounded familiar, but now unmistakably male. “I am Garan ap Gwylan.”

Linden clasped her head, still dizzy with the sudden shift from the cove to the island. Then her vision cleared and she saw him: a male faery considerably bigger than her fellow Oakenfolk but barely half as tall as Timothy-about the height of a human child. His hair was the color of peeled willow, held back from his forehead by a circlet of twisted gold and falling loose and straight to his shoulders. But there was nothing childlike or feminine about the clean, proud bones of his face, or the muscles of his bare arms as he stretched out his hand to help Linden from her seat.

“Come with me,” he said. “I will take you to meet the Elders of my people.”

Ever since the Children of Rhys had given their verdict, Timothy had been silent, his eyes downcast, but now he flicked a half smile at Linden and nodded for her to go ahead. She took Garan’s hand and climbed out; Timothy followed, and the three of them set off down the beach together.

“Was it you who spoke to us, back there?” she asked Garan. It felt somehow rude to be addressing the top of his head, so she shrank back to Oakenfolk size and flew alongside him.

“I spoke with my people’s voice and not my own,” he said, “but yes, it was my turn as Speaker. I have waited many years for this day.” He gave her a sidelong glance with his sea-colored eyes. “May I ask what you are called, so that I may introduce you to the Elders?”

“I’m Linden,” she said. She waited for Timothy to speak, but he didn’t, so she went on, “And my human friend is Timothy.”

“It is an honor to meet you,” said Garan, making them both a short bow with his hand to his heart. “Never in my lifetime have strangers come to our island. What news do you bring to us from the outside world?”

His gaze held a keen, almost hungry interest, and Linden felt suddenly self-conscious. “It’s a long story,” she said. “Perhaps we should save it for the Elders.”

“As you wish it,” Garan said, but he looked disappointed. “Tell me,” he added after a pause, “do you find that small form comfortable? It gives me no offense if you prefer human shape; I am told that many of our people on the mainland do. I choose it myself, from time to time,” and in a blink he made himself as tall as Timothy, striding a few long paces across the sand before dropping back to his former height.

“Actually, this is my natural size,” said Linden, a little defensively. Did no other faeries look like the Oakenfolk anymore? Veronica had appeared startled and even disgusted that she would make herself so small, and now Garan seemed to think it strange, too…