Wishes and Wings (5 page)

She opened her eyes and saw him gesturing frantically at her mother with one hand, pointing at himself with the other, waggling his fingers.

She nodded and lifted her hands, her lips moving.

Alida suddenly saw Gavin more clearly, without the silvery glow, and she knew it had worked.

He wasn't invisible now.

“Sir!” Gavin called out again, then ran alongside the path, staying hidden behind the long line of trees.

The commander turned. “Who's there? I command you to …”

Gavin lobbed the stone high, so that it struck the ground farther down the road.

The commander whirled toward the sound.

Gavin sprinted forward through the gap in the trees and slammed into him from behind.

They both fell to the ground.

The man leapt to his feet. He drew his sword, knees bent, ready to fight.

Alida could hear Gavin apologizing, his head bowed.

Alida exhaled silently when the commander lowered his sword.

“Explain yourself!”

“I stumbled, sir,” Gavin said, getting up. “I heard the horses galloping and ran to see and—”

“What are you doing out here?” the officer demanded.

“Looking for a missing cow,” Gavin said, his voice friendly, respectful. “Have you seen one, sir?” He walked a few steps farther so that he could see down
the road. “Oh!” he said. “I've never seen guards before. I've heard about the silver armor on the horses and—”

“Have you seen anything unusual today?” the commander interrupted him.

Gavin walked farther away from the faeries, out into the middle of the path. The commander followed him, sword still drawn and ready.

“Up that way,” Gavin said, pointing. “I saw a strange wolf last summer. It had a white spot on its side.”

The guards burst into laughter, then fell silent when the commander glared at them.

Alida watched him frown at Gavin.

Then he pointed at the dirt, gesturing at the wheel ruts. “Did you see wagons or carts?”

Gavin nodded and looked surprised at the question. “Farmers come this way often enough, sir. And tinsmiths' carts. And sometimes the goatherds get down this far if the grass runs out before fall and—”

“Enough!” the commander interrupted him, sheathing his sword.

“Remount!” he shouted, and the guards' saddles creaked again. Their swords clicked inside their scabbards as they settled into their stirrups, then they all galloped away.

Gavin stood on the path until the sound of the hoofbeats faded into nothing. Then Alida saw his shoulders sink. She could tell how relieved he was—and how scared he had been.

Her mother wove her fingers in the air and said the two words that ended the magic. “Thank you for your wit and your courage,” she called to Gavin.

Everyone cheered.

Alida smiled. She had been so afraid that her friendship with Gavin might cause trouble. Instead, he had saved them all.

“Do you think they were looking for us?” Alida asked her mother once everyone was busy getting the wagons back onto the road.

“I hope not,” she said.

“But what if they were—”

“We can't stay here,” her mother interrupted.

Alida nodded. She flew to the village once more.

This time a lot of people were awake.

She flew low and swift, looking until she found another path. It was narrow and bumpier, but safer because it was farther from the village.

Once they were a long way down the bumpy road, and everyone else had already thanked Gavin, Alida caught up with him.

He put his arm around her shoulders. She folded her wings tightly to keep them out of the way. “Please be careful once you get home,” he said. “It'll be hard for you to stay hidden, even with your mother's new magic.”

She knew he was right.

6

A
fter that the faeries traveled as fast as they could, staying off the paths and roads.

At first they were almost silent.

But it didn't last.

“I didn't know there could
be
new magic,” Alida's cousins kept whispering.

A lot of the other faeries nodded, and most of them were frowning.

Alida's mother explained that the idea had come to her a long time ago, that she had been practicing it carefully. “We won't use it ever again, unless we absolutely have to,” she promised.

“Good,” an elder faerie named William said.
“That magic saved us, I know, but it's big magic. It
changes
something.”

“I made it very carefully,” Alida's mother said. “It fades in two days if I don't end it sooner.”

William was still shaking his head. “Just be sure you don't teach it to anyone else.”

Alida's mother didn't answer except to smile. Then she walked along the line to see if anyone needed help.

Two days later, when the sun was high, the faeries came to the meadow.

Their
meadow.

Gavin caught up with Alida. “It's even more beautiful when we aren't soaked and shivering.”

She nodded.

This was where their journey to find her family had begun—on a cold, stormy day.

“Wait here,” Alida's mother said. Then she stretched her wings and flew in a fast, wide circle, skimming the treetops.

When she returned, she looked happy. “No sign of guards, and there are only a few new farms between here and Ash Grove, none too close,” she said. “There are no new paths here or up on the ridge. I think we are safe for now.”

The faeries danced in circles, celebrating for a few moments. Then they got to work.

The goats were unhitched. Kary and Trina, two of Terra's good friends, led them to the creek to drink and graze. The older boys who milked the cows every evening led them to deep green grass.

All the elder faeries were walking together, pointing, talking, remembering.

Alida helped Terra and one of the older boys unload two of the carts. Every time the elders walked past, she listened to what they were saying.

Nothing they had built remained.

Their wooden storage sheds had rotted into the soil. The pasture fence had fallen apart, and the log
rails were mostly buried in leaves and dirt, brittle beetle houses now.

Every trace of their sleeping nests was gone too.

But there was a happy swell of voices when someone spotted a few of their blueberry bushes still alive.

And the egg-shaped stone was exactly as they all remembered it.

Alida helped unload a third cart, then looked around for her mother.

She was calling to two very young faeries who were flying around a tree, laughing.

Alida watched. When they landed, her mother scolded them.

Then she raised her voice. “Don't fly. Especially in the daytime. If we are seen walking, the humans won't be sure. But if we are seen flying, Dunraven's guards will come. Remind one another!”

She pivoted and walked away, heading for the biggest oak in the meadow.

Alida watched her mother stop beneath its
branches, and smiled. It was the tree she had recognized when she and Gavin had been here. When she was little, before she had been taken from her family, her whole family had slept high in its branches every single night.

Alida ran after her mother. Her father joined them. He looked up into the branches. “It's much bigger now.”

Her mother nodded. “It looks strong, like it has a few hundred more years to live. Or more if we make sure it gets enough water in the driest summers.”

Alida heard footsteps and turned to see her sister coming. “Our tree has grown!” Terra called.

“Do you remember it, Alida?” her father asked.

She pointed at the low limb that angled out from the trunk. “Terra practiced flying up and down from that branch,” she said quietly.

Terra nodded. “Over and over and over.”

Their father hugged them both.

Then they all stood silently, looking up. “Is this still where you want us to sleep, Your Majesty?” he asked.

Alida's mother laughed and kissed his cheek. “Yes. Terra and I will find the blankets and sort out the rest of our things from the carts.”

“Good,” her father said. “Alida and I will get started on the nests.”

Once her mother and Terra had walked away, Alida's father pointed toward the noisy creek. “First we need strong, tall grass.”

Alida followed him as he walked the bank. “We want the longest stems we can find,” he said.

Alida spotted a tall patch of grass on the other side of the stream. “There?”

Her father ran, spread his wings, and glided across, low and quick. Alida hesitated.

“Your mother is right,” he called. “But that was jumping, not flying. And the water is cold as ice this time of year.”

Alida ran, spread her wings, and glided across.

“Watch,” he said, and showed her simple magic for cutting the tough grass. “See if you can do it.”

Alida repeated the three words he had taught her and imagined a sharp farmer's scythe in her hands as she spoke.

The grass fell over sideways into a neat stack.

“You learn quickly!” her father said.

Alida felt herself blushing as they went to work cutting and stacking more of the strong-stemmed grass.

When they had enough, her father used magic to lift the first few piles of grass across the creek. Alida watched closely. She was pretty sure he was doing almost exactly what she had done to lift Gavin out of Dunraven's prison.

Her father looked up and smiled at her. “Try it.”

Alida gathered the magic inside herself and moved it toward the grass and underneath it … then she gasped when the grass shot straight upward.

Her father helped her bring it down. “Use smaller magic,” he said, “grass isn't heavy.”

Alida found the magic inside herself again and kept it very small. She made it move more slowly, too, and once the pile of grass was on the other side of the creek, she set it down gently.

“You're like your mother,” her father said. “You have a gift with magic.”

Alida blushed again.

He touched her cheek. “We all missed you so much.”

When they crossed the meadow, no one was flying. All the faeries were climbing the oak trees, their wings folded tight against their backs.

Alida's father showed her how to choose the best branches. She watched him bend the boughs gently, coaxing them into the shape of a deep, curving nest.

It was tricky.

By the time they were finished, she had learned a lot, including how to make the nest very hard to see from the ground.

“Now,” her father said, “we need to find cattail stalks.” They followed the creek and found enough for a thousand nests.

He showed her how to weave the green stalks into the oak branches. It was complicated. She helped hold them in place while he added new ones.

“We'll line it with grass,” her father said when they were finished. “Then our blankets.” He stretched. “This one will be big enough for all four of us tonight,” he said. “You and Terra can make your own nest tomorrow.”