R. Anderson - Wayfarer

Linden’s magic was gone; she could no longer change size, or fly, or cast a glamour to protect herself. But the iron cross still lay within her reach. And as Rob dragged Timothy out of the way, Linden seized the leather cord, leaped up, and whipped the cross at the Empress as hard as she could.

The cord snapped. But the cross kept flying, flashing in the candlelight as it spun through the air and struck the Empress’s cheek. With a shriek she bent over, hiding her face in her skirts, while a cry went up from the watching crowd.

Rob grabbed his guitar from beside the platform; it blurred in his hand, and became a sword. He leaped in front of the Empress as though to defend her, but it was to Linden that he spoke:

“The Stone! Give it to me!”

There was no way he could know that she had it, unless Timothy had told him. Quickly Linden dug it out of her pocket and held it out to him.

Rob closed his hand around the Stone, and relief washed over his face. “You were wrong, my lady ,” he said with savage triumph as he turned to confront the Empress. “I can deny you-and I do.”

The Empress raised her head, eyes burning with hate-and Linden gasped.

“Jasmine!” she cried out, scrambling to her feet. “Rob-she’s the faery who stole my people’s magic!”

The touch of cold iron had not only robbed the Empress of her ability to cast spells, it had stripped away the powerful glamours she had used to disguise herself. Dark haired and proud featured, she was now the image of the portrait Linden had seen in Paul’s book. But now the heavy-lidded eyes and sensual mouth were surrounded by deep creases, and the once black hair bore streaks of gray. Signs of age, such as no faery before had ever shown-how many years had she lived as a human before regaining her magical powers?

“Defend the Empress!” rasped a familiar voice from below them, and Corbin Blackwing leaped up onto the stage with sword in hand. Rob sprang to meet him, shouting, “Rebels! To me!” and the entire room erupted in confusion. Some faeries appeared to be plunging for the exits, others toward the platform, while still more milled about uncertainly.

“The Empress has lost her power!” Linden shouted into the jostling crowd. “Come here quickly, before it’s too late-Rob has the Stone, he can free you!” At first she despaired that anyone could hear her, there was so much shouting and wailing going on, but then she heard a female voice cry out, “The Stone of Naming!” and another echo, “The Stone!”

Within seconds the chaos on the floor resolved itself into two sides: the rebels pressing eagerly toward the stage, and the Empress’s servants trying to hold them back. Birds wheeled about the ceiling, animals leaped and tussled on the floor, light sizzled and metal rang, and in the half-darkness it was impossible to tell which side was winning.

The Empress clawed at her fallen throne, dragging herself to her feet. She staggered forward and swiped at Linden, who ducked away just in time.

“I should have burned that blighted Oak to the ground,” Jasmine panted. “And when I regain my powers-I swear to you that I will-”

But at that same moment Rob and Corbin came clashing toward them, all swords and spell-fire. Linden scrambled back, shielding her eyes-and when she looked again, the Empress had flung open the door at the back of the stage and fled, leaving it open behind her.

Linden darted to Timothy where he sat slumped against the wall. She grabbed his shoulders and shouted in his ear, “Can you move? The Empress-she’s getting away!”

He looked at her dazedly, then gave a weak nod. Linden slung her arm around him and helped him struggle to his feet, then yelled, “This way!” and pointed at the door.

“Just a minute-” Timothy stumbled across the platform and bent to snatch up the iron cross from beside the fallen throne. Corbin’s sword whistled toward his head, but Rob blocked the stroke and kicked the Blackwing off the stage. Within seconds an enraged raven came whirring back toward him; Rob dodged the attack just long enough to stoop and clasp hands with someone in the crowd, then shouted back to Timothy and Linden, “Run! Save yourselves!” and suddenly whisked off into the darkness….

Linden blinked. Had he really changed himself into a fox ?

“Free!” cried a melodious voice, and Linden looked around to see the faery who had helped them at Euston Station holding the Stone of Naming high in the air. Other faeries were fighting their way toward her, plunging through walls of blue fire and dodging fountains of red and green sparks; as the first of them reached the faery, she passed him the Stone, and his voice echoed hers in exultation, “Free!”

With a screech one of the Blackwings dove out of the shadows, straight at Timothy’s face. Timothy flung up the iron cross; the raven dropped like an anvil and crashed to the floor as Byrne, unconscious.

“We have to go, Timothy!” Linden called urgently. Clutching the cross in front of him, Timothy began weaving his way past the other faeries swarming onto the stage-but just as he reached Linden, he stumbled and crashed to his knees.

“Timothy!” cried Linden in alarm, and he gasped back, “Legs went numb-don’t know what’s wrong, but I can’t-”

Linden helped him to his feet again, and together they limped toward the door. They had almost reached it when a slim figure slipped out to block their path, tossing the pale hair from his eyes and greeting them with a familiar mocking smile.

“Martin, get out of my way,” Timothy panted, brandishing the cross, but the male faery only laughed.

“I have no quarrel with you, human boy,” he said. “Why should I? I have not had such entertainment in many a year.” And to Linden’s amazement, he swept them a bow and disappeared again.

A noise like thunder cracked across the room, and all the candles went out. “Run!” screamed Linden, and she and Timothy plunged through the door. They found themselves at the top of a stairwell, with a second and heavier door before them; Timothy shoved it open, and the two of them tumbled out onto a concrete step, dazzled by the cold blue light of morning.

There was no sign of the Empress, and behind them the battle of Sanctuary still raged. But at least-or so Linden thought, as she clung to Timothy in exhausted relief-at least the two of them were safe.

Timothy sat in the back parlor at Oakhaven, gazing out across the garden. Two days had passed since he and Linden escaped from Sanctuary: They’d huddled in an alleyway for a miserable hour or so until her magic returned, and then she’d turned them both invisible and they’d taken the train home. They’d arrived on Paul and Peri’s doorstep, filthy, starving, and half dead with cold-but they were alive.

The only question was, for how long?

Resignedly Timothy opened his Bible to the fifth chapter of Matthew and reached for his notebook. Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven….

He had just started scribbling down some thoughts for the essay he owed the dean when a spasm went through his hand, and his pen tumbled to the floor. He was trying to make his nerveless fingers pick it up again when he heard Paul’s voice from behind him.

“You all right, Tim?”

“I’m fine,” Timothy said quickly, sitting up as his cousin rolled into the room. “Just an aftershock from the Empress’s spell.” It had frightened him the first few times, but by now the spasms were weaker and less frequent, and he was pretty sure they’d soon go away. Still, it was a chilling reminder that if he hadn’t been touching iron when the Empress blasted him, he’d be dead right now.

“Let’s say we just call her Jasmine,” said Paul, wheeling the chair around to face him. “I don’t think she deserves the title, do you? And if Rob can get enough rebels on his side, she won’t be holding on to it much longer anyway.”