Juliet Marillier - Wildwood Dancing

Costi and Cezar had been here many times before, and their game had well-established rules. It started with contests of various kinds, in which I had little chance of prevailing. I did my best. Running, climbing, swinging from a rope tied to a tree.

Making a fire. They had a secret hoard of useful things there, hidden in a box tied up with rope. I peered into it, expecting marvels—but it held only a flint and a sharp knife, a folded blanket, and a ball of string. And they had a raft. They had made it themselves last summer and kept it tied up to a willow, half concealed under a clump of ferns at the base. I was deeply 48

impressed that they would dare go out on the Deadwash—even at five, I had heard the stories.

“Last race,” declared Costi, who had already won most of the challenges, being leaner and quicker than his brother, as well as more confident. “Jena, you run as fast as you can, over to that big oak there. We’ll count up to ten, then we’ll come after you. Whichever one of us catches you wins. Ready? One, two, three—go!”

Not having time to think about how unfair this was, I ran.

I did my best, one hand holding my crown in place, the other clutching my makeshift cape. The ground was uneven, pitted with stones and broken by crevices. I ran and ran: the oak seemed to get farther away the harder I tried. Costi was laughing as he came after me, his feet swift and purposeful. Cezar had been left behind. The waters of T˘aul Ielelor flashed by, a bright blur. The dark woods seemed to close in.

All at once I was terrified. I could hear Costi’s breathing, and it was like the panting of some monster about to seize me and rend me limb from limb. The faster I tried to run, the slower my legs seemed to go, as if I were wading through porridge. Tears blinded my eyes. I tripped and fell, striking my cheek on a knobbly tree root—and Costi was there, grabbing me by the arms and shouting triumphantly, “I got her! I won! I get first pick!”

Cezar came up, breathing hard. “Jena’s crying,” he observed.

“Oh,” said Costi, and let go abruptly. “Are you all right, Jena?” He had the grace to look a little contrite.

49

“Here,” said Cezar, producing a handkerchief from his pocket.

I sat up and blew my nose. “First pick of what?” I asked them.

“What you get to be, in the game,” explained Costi. “King of the Lake, King of the Land, or King of something else.

We’ve never had three before. What do you want to be, Jena?”

“Queen of the Fairies,” I sniffed.

“All right. Here’s what we do next—”

“It’s not so easy.”

The three of us froze in shock. We’d had no idea anyone else was there. But as the voice spoke, we saw an old woman, clad all in black, stooped over in the woods nearby. She was gathering yellow mushrooms into a little basket. Maybe she’d been there all the time; she blended into the dark hues of the undergrowth as if she were just another thing that grew there.

“What do you mean?” asked Costi.

“It’s only a game,” said Cezar.

“Nothing is only a game.” The old woman hobbled toward us, the basket of mushrooms over her arm. “Whatever you play, you must play it properly. There are rules—rules it seems you don’t know.”

“What rules?” asked Costi, frowning.

“Ah,” said the crone, crouching down beside us. She produced a square of cloth from the basket, which she proceeded to lay out flat on the sandy lakeshore. As if drawn by a powerful charm, the three of us crouched, too, waiting. “You can’t claim the title of King without giving something in return. King of the Lake, King of the Land, Queen of the Fairies—such titles 50

are not idly bestowed, nor easily won with foolish demonstra-tions of strength or speed.” She glanced at Costi. I saw his eyes narrow. “You must pay for them.”

“Pay?” asked Cezar. “What with? You mean silver?”

There was a little silence. Then the old woman said, “You must pay with what is most precious to you in all the world.

The thing you love best. Put that on the cloth. Give it up willingly, and the title will be yours to take and to keep. If it were I, I would give these mushrooms, for they will keep starvation from my door for one more day, and what is more precious than life? What will you give?”

We were all impressed. The boys’ faces looked very serious. Costi slipped the chain holding his silver ring over his head and laid it on the cloth. “There,” he said. “I want to be King of the Lake.”

“Are you sure?” the old woman asked him, and the look she gave him was searching.

“I wouldn’t have offered it if I wasn’t sure,” Costi said.

I was only five. Yet I knew I must be brave and give up my treasure. I took off my beautiful crown, which I’d made with such labor and such love. “I want to be Queen of the Fairies, please,” I whispered, setting it down beside the ring.

The old woman favored me with a gap-toothed smile. “Are you sure, little girl?” she said with quiet intensity.

Her voice frightened me even more than her beady eyes. Costi had shown no fear; I felt I had to match him. “Yes,” I said.

The old woman’s gaze moved to Cezar. “King of the Land,”

she said thoughtfully. “That’s the only one left.”

Cezar was pale. He looked as if he was about to faint, and 51

he was staring at his brother. He didn’t seem to be able to think what to offer. I was about to suggest that he give up his cloak when the crone said, “Are you sure?”

Something changed in Cezar’s face, and a chill went up my spine. It was as if darkness itself was looking out through those eight-year-old eyes. I dropped my gaze; I could not look at him.

I heard him say, “I’m sure,” in a voice that sounded like someone else’s. Then the crone spoke again.

“It’s done,” she said. “Play your game. Don’t forget, next time: nothing comes without a price.” She picked up her basket, turned her back on us, and shuffled away into the woods.

Costi was on his feet, solemnity forgotten. “I’m King of the Lake!” he shouted. Seizing my hand, he ran down to the water, pulling me behind him. “Come on, Jena! I’ll give you first turn on the raft. I’ll ferry you over to the magic island. The Queen of the Fairies needs her own special realm where she can hold court.”

He was so quick. My heart pounding, I let him guide me onto the precarious craft, constructed of willow poles tied with twists of flax and lengths of fraying rope. It rocked in the water as he stood knee-deep beside it, unfastening the line that moored it to the willow. I teetered and sat down abruptly, swallowing tears of fright. My big cousin had allowed me to play his grown-up game. I wasn’t going to give him the chance to call me a crybaby. Besides, I’d paid for this with my best thing in the world. It must be all right. And I really did want to be on that island, the dear little one with the flowers. If I looked closely enough, I might find real fairies there, tiny ones, hiding inside the blooms. I was a queen now; I must be brave.

52

“Ready?” asked Costi. Then, without waiting for an answer, he pushed the raft away from the shore. The pole for guiding it lay across the weathered boards by my feet. Probably he had planned to jump on with me, but somehow, the raft went out too quickly. As I grabbed for the pole, it rolled across the boards and into the waters of the Deadwash. Costi was left standing in the shallows, staring after me.

The raft floated out. Eddies and swirls appeared on the surface around it, carrying the pole farther and farther away. I passed the little island with the flowers. I passed another island thick with thornbushes, and a third all mossy rocks. The figures of my cousins got smaller and smaller. I thought I could see dark figures on the islands, hands reaching out to grab me.