R. Anderson - Wayfarer

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.”

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.