R. Anderson - Wayfarer

“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….

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.”