The Sweet Far Thing (19 page)

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“Right. Let’s have a jolly time now we’re here, shall we?” I say, and I join hands with every one of them but Wendy, who insists she doesn’t want to play. Soon we’re all brimming with a shining power and even the walls cannot contain our jubilant cries. They creak and groan as the vines tighten their hold.

Felicity and Ann show the factory girls how to turn their ragged skirts into sumptuous silks with beads and embroidery like those from the finest shops in Paris.

Everyone is merry except for Wendy. She sits in a corner, hugging her knees to her chest.

I take a seat beside her on the cold, weedy floor. “What is the matter, Wendy?”

“I’m afraid,” she says, holding tightly to her legs.

“Of what?”

“Of wantin’ it too much, miss.” She wipes her nose on her sleeve. “You said it don’t last forever. But what if, once I go’ a taste of it…” A tear slips down her dirty cheek. “What if I can’t go back to how it was?”

“A teacher of mine once said that we can’t go back; we can only move forward,” I say, parroting Miss Moore’s words. Back when she was Miss Moore in my mind and not Circe. “You don’t have to do it.”

She nods. “Maybe I could ’ave just a little? Not too much?”

I give her only a little, and when I feel her pulling away, I stop.

“So, Wendy, what will it be first—a ball gown? Ruby earbobs? A prince?” I swallow hard and touch my fingers to her useless eyes. “Or…I might…”

She nods. “Yes, miss, if you please.”

I cover her eyes and will the magic to its purpose. “Did it…,” I begin.

Wendy’s mouth settles into a thin line. “Sorry, miss.”

“You can’t see?”

She shakes her head. “It was too much to hope for.”

“Nothing’s ever too much to hope for,” I say, but my heart is heavy. It is the first limit to the magic: It cannot heal, it would seem. “Is there something else? Anything at all?”

“I’ll show you,” she says, taking my hands. Feeling her way, she leads me outside and around the castle to a small patch of grass bitten with frost. She kneels, pressing her palms to it. A perfect white rose snakes from the ground. Its petals are edged with a deep blood red.

She inhales deeply. A smile crosses her lips. “Is it there?”

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“Yes,” I say. “It’s beautiful.”

“Mum sold roses at the pub. I always liked the smell.”

A sweet brown hare hops past, its nose wiggling at the ground.

“Wendy,” I whisper. “Don’t move.”

I brush the frost from a patch of bitter herbs and offer them to the bunny. Curious, he hops closer, and I nestle him into my arms.

“Here, feel,” I say, putting the rabbit near Wendy. She strokes his fur, and a smile lights her face. “What shall we call him?” I ask.

“No, you should name ’im,” Wendy insists.

“Very well.” I peer closely at his twitching nose. There’s something noble and aloof about him. “Mr.

Darcy, I should think.”

“Mr. Darcy. I like it.”

I fashion a cage for him of twigs and vines and a bit of magic and place the little fellow inside. Wendy holds fast to the cage as if it contains her dearest dreams.

Though it is hard to say goodbye, our night must come to an end, and we must return to our world. We embrace with promises of tomorrow, and Pippa and the others escort us as far as the bramble wall.

We’re on our way to the secret door when the ground begins to shake with the sound of horses.

“Let’s go! Quickly!” I shout.

“What is it?” Ann asks, but we are already running and there is no time for replies.

“They’re cutting us off,” I call. “To the garden.”

We run hard and fast with the riders in pursuit, but we’re no match for them. By the time the river is in view, they’ve got us trapped.

“Use the magic,” Felicity begs, but I’m so frightened I cannot gain control of it. It races through me till I’m on my knees.

Several magnificent centaurs step out from behind the lush ferns. They are led by one named Creostus.

He doesn’t care for any mortal, and he especially doesn’t care for me.

He crosses his muscular arms over his broad chest and eyes me with contempt. “Hello, Priestess. I believe you owe my people a visit.”

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“Yes. I had planned to do so,” I lie.

Creostus leans close. His eyebrows are thick and his thin wisp of a beard comes to a point beneath a wide, cruel smile. He smells like earth and sweat. “Of course you did.”

“All is in readiness, Most High. I shall take you to Philon now,” Gorgon calls, slipping into view, and I know she’s had a hand in this. She wants me to make the alliance no matter what.

“Yes, you see? We were on our way,” I say, flashing Gorgon a glance, which she ignores. She lowers the plank for us, keeping her eyes on the centaur.

Creostus allows Felicity and Ann to pass but cuts me off. He puts his face near my ear, his voice a harsh purr that raises gooseflesh on my neck. “Betray us, Priestess, and you’ll be sorry.”

As I board, Felicity pulls me aside. “Must we go with that overgrown goat?”

I sigh. “What choice do we have?”

“What if they mean to make the alliance now, before we’ve really had a chance to change anything?”

Ann asks, and I know it’s her very existence she’s speaking of.

“It is only a discussion,” I tell them. “Nothing is decided yet. The magic is still ours for now.”

“Very well,” Felicity says. “But please, let’s not stay long. And I won’t sit near that Creostus. He’s vile.”

We sail the river, doing our best to ignore Creostus and his centaurs, who watch our every move as if we might jump ship. At last, Gorgon takes the familiar turn toward the home of the forest folk. A veil of shimmering water hides their island from view. The boat parts the curtain of it, and we pass through a fresh, cool mist that coats our skin with jeweled flecks, turning us into golden girls.

The haze lifts. The verdant shore of the forest folk slides into view, a thick green as inviting as a feather bed. As our massive ship anchors, several of the forest children stop their game and step forward to gape at the terrible wonder that is the gorgon. Gorgon is not charmed by their staring. She turns toward them and lets the snakes about her head stretch and hiss, their forked tongues quick whips of red among all the green. The children yelp and run for the cover of the trees.

“That wasn’t very kind of you,” I scold. I’m still angry that she’s betrayed our presence to Philon.

“Miscreants,” Gorgon says in her slithery voice. “No better than toads.”

“They’re only children.”

“I am unbothered by the maternal instinct,” she purrs. With that, the snakes settle into rest. The gorgon closes her eyes and speaks no more.

The floating lights that live in the forest beckon for us to follow. They lead us through tall trees that smell of Christmas morning. The spiciness makes my nose run. At last we reach the thatched-roof huts of the
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village. A woman the color of twilight plods past carrying buckets of glistening rainbow-hued water. She catches my eye, and quick as you please, she changes in appearance till I am staring at my own reflection.

“Gemma!” Ann cries.

“How did you do that?” I ask. It is odd to have two of me.

She smiles—my smile on another face!—and transforms once more, becoming an exact replica of Felicity, with the same full mouth and pale blond hair. Felicity is not amused. She picks up a rock and palms it.

“Stop that this instant or you’ll be sorry.”

The woman slides into her twilight self. With a sharp cackle, she hoists her glistening pails and walks away.

Philon greets us at the edge of the village. The creature is neither man nor woman but something in between, with a long, lean body and skin of dusky purple. Today Philon wears a coat of fat spring leaves. Their deep hue brings out the green in its wide, almond-shaped eyes.

“So you’ve come at last, Priestess. I had begun to think you’d forgotten us.”

“I hadn’t forgotten,” I mumble.

“I am glad to hear it, for we would hate to think you’d prove no kinder to us than the Order priestesses who came before you,” Philon says, exchanging glances with Creostus.

“I’ve come,” I say.

“Let’s not tarry here exchanging pleasantries,” Creostus snarls.

We follow Philon’s willowy, graceful form into the low thatched-roof hut where we first met. It is as I remember it: sumptuous pallets sit on a floor made of golden straw. The room holds four more centaurs and a half dozen forest folk. I do not see Asha or any of the Untouchables but perhaps they are on their way.

I take a seat on one of the pallets. “There was a woman who transformed into me before my eyes. How could she do that?”

“Ah. Neela.” Philon pours a red liquid into a silver chalice. “She is a shape-shifter.”

“Shape-shifter?” Ann repeats. She’s having difficulty balancing on the pallet. She topples into me twice before finding a level spot in the middle.

“We had the ability to change into other forms. It served us well in your world. We could become any mortal’s fantasy. Sometimes the mortals chose to follow us into this world, to become our playthings. It did not sit well with the Order and the Rakshana.” Philon tells the tale with no apparent regret or remorse whatsoever.

“You stole mortals from our world,” I say, horrified.

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Philon sips from the chalice. “The mortals had a choice. They chose to come with us.”

“You enchanted them!”

A smirk pulls at the corners of Philon’s thin lips. “They chose to be enchanted.”

Philon has been our ally, but I find this knowledge disturbing, and I wonder just whom I’ve made promises to.

“That power died out in many of us from lack of use. But it has remained in some, such as Neela.”

As he says this, the twilight woman enters the tent. She looks from us to Philon and Creostus and says something to Philon in their language. Philon answers in kind, and with a suspicious glance in my direction, she takes her place beside Creostus. She places a hand on his back and rubs his soft fur.

Philon crosses the room in two long strides and settles into a large chair made of palm fronds. As we watch, the creature lights a long, slender reed and draws deeply from it until its eyes are soft and glassy.

“We must discuss the future of the realms, Priestess. We gave aid to you when you needed it. Now we expect payment.”

“It is time to make the alliance,” Creostus thunders. “We would go to the Temple and lay hands together. The magic will belong to each of us then, and we will govern ourselves as we see fit.”

“But there are other considerations,” I say, the knowledge that they took mortals for their own amusement burdening my mind.

“What considerations?” Philon asks, cocking an eyebrow.

“The Untouchables,” I say. “Where are they? They should be here.”

“The Untouchables,” Neela spits. “Bah!”

Philon exhales and the room grows hazy. “I sent word. They did not come, as I knew they would not.”

“Why?” I ask.

“They fear change,” Philon answers. “They serve without question.”

“They are cowards! They have always been slaves to the Order—diseased filth! I should rid the realms of them if I could,” Creostus bellows.

“Creostus,” Philon says, rebuking the centaur and offering him the pipe. He sneers and bats it away.

Unperturbed, Philon smokes more, till the room is filled with a strong, spicy perfume that dizzies me.

“There are many tribes within the realms, Priestess. You will never bring them all into accord.”

“How do we know that you even told the Untouchables about this meeting?” Fee says accusingly.