R. Anderson - Rebel

Garan laughed. “How can that be? You are a faery, with magic in your blood: One size is no more natural to you than another. Perhaps you have become accustomed to being small, but with a little practice you could make yourself the height I am now, or half that, or twice as tall again, as easily as winking.”

Linden was startled. She had always known that before the Sundering the Oakenfolk used to make themselves human size at will, so it had seemed obvious to follow their example. But she had never even thought to try any of the sizes in between…

Well, there was one way to know for sure. She dropped to the ground, shut her eyes in concentration-and opened them again to find Garan looking at her. Straight at her, because she’d made herself exactly his height. Linden let out a laugh; it was the oddest feeling, being large and not large at the same time. But it hadn’t been difficult at all.

“You see?” said Garan, smiling. They had reached the edge of the beach now; he took her hand and helped her climb up a low staircase of rocks, then stepped out in front to lead the way.

On shore the wind had blown cold beneath a gray sky dappled with clouds: But here the sky was as blue as chicory, and the sun that beat down on them was warm. It might have been May or June, instead of February. They had only walked a few paces into the long, herb-seasoned grass when Linden paused to shrug off her coat and fold it away into her pack. Timothy hesitated, then did likewise-but he moved stiffly, and as he peeled the jacket away Linden saw the dark stain that had spread along his side. “You’re bleeding!” she said, alarmed.

“Bleeding?” asked Garan. “You are injured, then? May I look?”

It was the first time he had addressed Timothy directly, but the concern in his voice sounded genuine. Timothy gave an uncomfortable shrug. “It’s not that bad,” he said. “But sure, if you want.”

“He was hurt trying to protect me,” Linden said quickly as Garan moved past her, afraid that the other faery would see the obvious knife wound and come to the wrong conclusion. “We were attacked on the way, and he fought to keep us both from being captured. That’s what I meant when I said he was brave.”

Garan lifted Timothy’s shirt and examined the ugly, weeping slash across his side. At last he laid his palm against it, ignoring Timothy’s flinch, and when he took his hand away there was nothing beneath but a crust of dried blood and a pink line of newly healed skin.

“You will need your strength when you stand before the Elders,” he said. “And I am always glad for a chance to use my healing gifts-in this place, the need for such skill is rare.”

An exciting thought sparked in Linden’s mind. “Can you heal any kind of injury?” she asked eagerly. “If you met a human who couldn’t use his legs, for instance…”

“If the injury was new and not too grave, I might be able to heal him,” said Garan. “But if several months have passed, or if the injured part were badly crushed or severed, I would not even dare to attempt it. There is only so much that even magic can do.”

Linden’s hope faded to disappointment. For a moment she had dared to imagine how happy Paul would be if he could walk again. But if Garan was right, then it was far too late to help him.

Timothy was still staring at his newly healed side. He poked the scar and let out a short laugh, then turned to Garan and said “Th-I mean, that’s fantastic! I appreciate it.” He straightened his shoulders, looking more confident and happy than she had seen him in days. “So what you said before, about not getting to heal people very often-I take it you don’t see much fighting here?”

“No, indeed,” said Garan. “We left all that behind a thousand years ago, when my ancestors first came to these islands. For years they had served their tribal chieftains faithfully, even surrendering their true names to them as proof of their devotion. But in time their lords grew greedy and ambitious for power, forcing their people into battle for no just cause. So when Rhys came to them from beyond the Sea with the Stone of Naming in his hand, my ancestors gladly gave up the names that enslaved them and took new ones, so that they might choose for themselves whom they would serve. And then they left their old homes and settled upon these islands, pledging themselves to a new life of harmony and peace.”

The Stone of Naming, thought Linden in wonder. Rob had been right-it was the very thing he and his fellow would-be rebels needed to fight against the Empress. But if the Stone was so important to the Children of Rhys’s history, would they be willing to give it up?

“How many of your people are there?” she asked Garan.

“We do not keep count of our numbers,” he replied. “For though our people marry in their youth and live long lives, they seldom have more than one or two children, and Rhys promised my forefathers that as long as we honored his laws, there would be enough room on these islands for us all.” His mouth bent wryly. “And so it has proved, though there are times I could wish for fewer voices in council.”

“How about this, then,” said Timothy. “How many of these islands do you have?” He had stopped again and was peering out across the sea, his eyes shielded with his hand. “Because I’m counting at least four…no, five… It’s a wonder you aren’t knee-deep in shipwrecks by now.”

“There are twelve in all,” Garan said. “The Gwerdonnau Llion, what you would call the Green Isles of the Ocean. But no sailor sets foot here except by our leave. Here, we exist in a realm apart from human time, and unwary vessels sail right through us.”

“But you buy your goods on shore,” Timothy pointed out, “or at least you used to. So you must visit the human world now and then.”

“You are well informed about our people, for a human,” said Garan, his brows rising. “Has the tale of Gruffydd truly survived among you for so long? So many years have passed since strangers came to our lands-if not for you, I could believe the whole world had forgotten the Children of Rhys.

“Yes, we do trade often with the humans upon the shore,” he continued, “but only in disguise, and we do not linger there longer than need demands. And since our traders are chosen by lot, I have yet to visit your shores myself.” His eyes grew wistful. “Perhaps I shall have that chance, one day. But we dally too much, and we should not keep the Elders waiting.”

He turned and led them onward through the grass, until at last they reached the edge of the wood that Linden had seen from shore. Two trees stood a little in front of the rest, their slender trunks perfectly symmetrical and their intertwined branches forming an arch overhead.

“Enter into our court, and be welcome,” said Garan, gesturing for them to go ahead of him. But when Linden looked between the trees she could see only darkness, and it made her uneasy.

“You go first,” she said. “Please.”

“It is not my place,” protested Garan. “The Elders will think I dishonor you.”

“I’ll go,” said Timothy, and stepped forward. The shadows swallowed him up at once, and Linden held her breath; but then she heard his voice echoing back from the other side, “It’s all right. Come on.”

Linden made herself human size again, for courage. Then she steeled herself and plunged into the dark.

She emerged with a stumble into a great oval chamber, airy and brightly lit. Behind her stood an archway identical to the one through which she had just passed-but on this side, the trees and their interwoven branches were carved from white marble. And before her, on twelve tall chairs of the same gleaming silver-veined stone, sat the Elders of the Children of Rhys.