The Prince Page 8

  “And their mothers tell them?”

  “When the time is right, in accordance with elf wisdom.”

  “So, they know the day they will die?”

  “Not the day, but the circumstances. In truth, all are fated for a certain end, but the fate-born carry the burden of knowing what it is.”

  “Why did you ask if I was fate-born, mother elder? I’m not an elf.”

  The tree seemed to smile. “You listen like an elf. I asked, dear child, because I sense a force drawing you like a great wind. So it is with many of the fate-born.”

  In sleep, Billy dreamt he visited Lyonesse and strolled along the familiar pathways of his homeland with old friends. He came to a wide meadow, hosting a merry picnic. The celebrants at this feast had all been close to Billy, and all had passed on.

  Of the dead, he saw John, the only father he had known. Then Duncan – his first juggling teacher – entertained them while they sat with Princess Kathryn and Prince Gaelyn. But the most interesting guest of all was Queen Eleanor.

  Billy took her hand, and they walked until they came to a garden with an extensive hedge-maze. Mother and son entered the labyrinth and traveled its narrow high-walled passages. At last, they came to an opening that was a garden unto itself. Billy recognized this garden as the “Queen’s Garden” in Castle Orgulous, and suddenly they were boxed in by the tall white walls of that glorious fortress.

  Eleanor stood by Billy’s side and pointed at the far end of the garden. They walked around the reflection pool and approached the site of Eleanor’s grave. Billy examined the simple, black stone enveloped by a thorn tree. He looked to his side, but his mother was gone. Then, to his amazement, the thorns swallowed up the gravestone.

  Billy reached out to push away the obtrusive plants but stopped short when he heard someone calling his name. He turned around to see who had called him. There was no one and nothing behind him but a barren plain. Dark clouds raced across a red sky and again, the voice called to him.

  “Help me, William,” it wailed on the wind.

  Billy turned once again and found that the plain surrounded him. His mother’s gravestone had been replaced by another. It was the only object visible for miles. The smooth granite stone had a name carved upon it: Lady Myrredith of Cyndyn.

  “William.” This time, the voice seemed much closer.

  Lightning danced across the sky, like blood pulsing in the veins. It plunged to earth, striking the headstone with a fierce boom. The rock split and the ground opened in a jagged trench. As the maw-like fracture widened, Billy saw the body of Lady Myrredith. She lay prone, unmoving, and dressed in black. She looked ever so beautiful.

  “Lady Myrredith!”

  Myrredith’s eyes snapped open and she extended a hand up toward him. “Help me, William.”

  Billy dropped to the ground and stretched out his hand, but he just couldn’t reach her. He inched his torso into the trench and reached for her again, but she only seemed farther away.

  “Help me, William.”

  Billy looked into her eyes. A tear bled from the corner of one as she strained to touch his hand.

  Billy redoubled his efforts. Their fingers almost touched. The lightning struck again, and the rift in the ground started to close.

  “William!” Myrredith slipped farther away—drawn down into the earth.

  Billy didn’t give up. He tried to reach her even when the earth threatened to swallow him. At the last second he withdrew his hand, and the surface of the desolate plain returned to its flat, barren appearance.

  “No!” Billy pounded the hardened, rock-strewn ground with his fists. He screamed Myrredith’s name until it reduced him to tears.

  He awoke, lying on a patch of thick, soft grass, surrounded by red toadstools and bluebells. His heart beat against his ribcage like an angry prisoner. He inhaled sharply. The scent of flowers and grass wet with dew filled his nose with a richness he had never experienced before. It was intoxicating—calming. He rolled to his back and looked into a high canopy of metallic colored leaves—some silver, some gold. They fluttered and glittered on the fragrant breeze as dull light from a cloudy sky winked between them.

  “Tirn Aill,” Billy muttered.

  At that moment, he heard someone running through the brush. He pushed up on one elbow, but saw no one. An uneasy stillness rested on the clearing.

  Am I still dreaming?

  As soon as he relaxed, the sound of running returned. He concentrated and heard the steps coming closer.

  Something caught Billy’s eye. He turned and saw Onian’s face reflected from the silver leaves of a nearby tree. The image shivered and writhed in a dozen disjointed fragments. The breeze gusted, and Onian’s visage disintegrated.

  “Onian?” Billy whispered.

  “Shhh. Someone comes. Listen.”

  Billy always thought he was a good listener until Onian taught him spirit-listening.

  Billy calmed his heart, quieted his mind, and stilled his spirit. He listened once more for the sound of the running feet. They were subtle and muted, yet now unmistakable to him, as if they were very close. He concentrated further and could hear the runner’s breathing. A question formed in his mind, and his heart beat a tiny bit faster. Then, he lost the sounds of the runner, and instead heard the rustle of the leaves, and the chirping of birds, and myriad sounds he could not identify. All the sounds of the forest and its inhabitants seemed to pour into his ears until they became a roar like thunder.

  Billy sat up like a fired catapult. “Myrredith’s in trouble!”

  The clearing remained silent.

  Onian stepped out from behind the tree and bowed to Billy. “Your Highness.”

  Billy jumped to his feet. “Myrredith’s in trouble.”

  “So you said.”

  “You don’t understand. She’s in real danger. She needs me …” Billy stopped when he observed Onian leaning on his bow like a farmer watching his crops grow.

  “Please continue, Highness.”

  “You’re not really interested, are you?”

  Onian paused. “I try to focus on the dangers nearby.”

  “Nearby?” He scanned the woods surrounding the clearing and hunkered down. “You said someone was coming,” he whispered. “I believe I heard them too.”

  “Yes. That’s good.”

  “If someone is coming, why did you come out?”

  “I thought it might be one of Malkry’s assassins.”

  “Then why aren’t we hiding?”

  “Because it’s only Shaldra.”

  Billy scanned the small clearing but, this time, caught glimpses of a dozen elves hiding in the trees. Had they been there all along? Why had he failed to see them? It was as if they were out of focus.

  Onian noticed Billy’s expression. “What is it, Your Highness?”

  “Is that faerie magic?”

  “Magic? I know very little magic, as I’m sure the Witan will attest.”

  “Your elves have been here all along, but I didn’t see them until just now.”

  Muffled laughter drifted out from the trees. It lilted on the breeze like flutes.

  “Oh, that.” Onian gave Billy a crooked smile and looked from side to side. “Just a trick. I’ll show you sometime.”

  “Yes, please.”

  At that moment, Shaldra appeared. As he approached, Billy listened to his footsteps. Yes. The same footsteps as before.

  Shaldra bowed to Billy. Although he breathed hard, his jaw was set in a determined manner and his green eyes remained grim.

  “My lord.”

  “Yes,” Billy and Onian answered in unison.

  Onian bowed to Billy. “Excuse me, Your Majesty. Habit, you know.”

  “Quite all right.”

  “My lord.” Shaldra gave another bow.

  “Yes, what is it?”

  “Your Majesty—” the elf began.

  “Please. Will all of you just call me Billy? It will save a great deal of time, and me some discom
fort. Maybe later, once this mess is all cleared up, you can give me a title.”

  “Yes, Your Highness—uh—Billy.” Shaldra bowed again.

  Onian tapped him with his bow. “You were saying.”

  “Yes.” Shaldra straightened. “I was on my way back from Malkry’s camp …”

  “What news of Malkry?” Onian asked.

  “Nothing. She keeps council with her warriors in seclusion.”

  “And the hobgoblins?”

  “Still in her camp as well.”

  “Interesting.”

  “I have found something even more interesting.” Shaldra reached inside his vest. “I think it is important.”

  Billy and Onian watched in expectation as Shaldra withdrew a large brown leaf and held it out to them. Billy leaned over and examined the dead leaf, looking for something unusual. He could see nothing on its broad, wrinkled surface, or anything about it that seemed out of place.

  Before Billy could say anything, Onian snatched the leaf and held it up to the light. The elf leader rubbed it and squinted.

  Billy felt somewhat baffled by his behavior. “What?”

  “I’ve never seen this before.” Onian tilted his head to one side.

  “It’s a leaf,” Billy said.

  “Yes.” Onian frowned. “But I’ve never seen one like this before.”

  Billy took the leaf in his hand for a closer examination. It looked to him very much like any other dead leaf he had seen. He looked at the ground around him and noticed a lack of loose leaves. And those few that were on the ground were still green or bright in color.

  Shaldra frowned. “There is more. The tree this came from … it looked … bad.”

  Onian touched Shaldra’s arm. “Come. Show me where you found this.”

  The two elves turned and left the clearing at a jog. Billy chased after them. At once, the elves hiding in the trees slipped into focus and fell in around him. Onian and Shaldra stopped and turned to face him.

  “Your Highness, you should stay here where we can better protect you. We’ll report back to you shortly.”

  “Protect me? Must I stay hidden in the woods forever? If I’m to rule this kingdom, I must take stock of it, know the lay of the land, and learn its secrets—and I can’t do that sitting around. Besides, I feel that I might be able to shed some light on this mystery.”

  Billy felt curious saying these words, but he was also proud. He was finally taking his destiny into his own hands, and it felt good. His usually stoic guards smiled approvingly.

  “Very well.” Onian inclined his head. “Who am I to argue with the future king?”

  The small faerie troop loped through the forest undetected. Billy felt very much at home amongst the elf warriors. They ran like ghosts through the brush, and moved in the same fashion he had taught himself when, as a boy, he snuck through the woods in the Valley of the Yew.

  At last, they came to the site where Shaldra had found the leaf. A tall maple-like tree stood circled by evergreens. Yellow, red, and brown leaves carpeted the forest floor and hung from the central tree.

  Billy waded through the ankle-deep leaves. When he arrived at the thick trunk of the only leaf-bearing tree, he turned and saw that none of the others had followed him. Instead, they stared in wonder at the tree.

  Billy once again looked at the tree, then back at the elves. “What’s the matter?”

  None of the elves seemed able to speak.

  “Onian. Onian!”

  “Yes.”

  “What is the matter?”

  Onian stared back at Billy. His emerald eyes narrowed. “There’s something wrong with that tree. I think it may be ill.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Onian wet his lips, but had no words to express his feelings. Billy bent and picked up several of the leaves at his feet.

  “Is it these leaves?”

  “Aye.”

  “What about them?”

  “They’re not green.”

  “So, you’ve never seen autumn leaves before?”

  “What kind of leaves?”

  “Autumn.”

  “I don’t know that word. Is that a kind of malady?”

  Billy laughed. “Heavens no. Autumn is the season between summer and winter.”

  “Winter?”

  “Yes, winter.” Billy was puzzled by the elf’s apparent ignorance. “You know, winter … when it gets cold … and the water freezes … and snow falls from the sky.”

  The elves scanned the sky with suspicion.

  “I’m afraid you’re wasting your time, Majesty.”

  He turned and saw Elzgig leaning up against the central tree. The diminutive wizard bowed and took Billy aside to continue his discourse.

  “You see, Tirn Aill has never seen a winter or an autumn.”

  “Never?”

  “No, and its inhabitants have seldom traveled anywhere, especially these young ones.”

  Billy looked to his bodyguards. They congregated closely together, deep in a discussion of their own. “Never?”

  “Not since …” Elzgig scratched his head. “Well, since Dagda sired the tribe you call Celts. At least not much.”

  “But you know. And what of all those faerie stories?”

  Elzgig frowned. “Yes, yes, yes. A handful of undesirable misfits and exiles.”

  “And what of my mother?”

  “I told your mother about the world of men. A bit too much, I suppose. A mistake, I’ll grant you, and I’ve regretted it ever since, so you don’t have to flog me with it. But we’re losing sight of the problem.”

  “What is the problem?”

  “What’s the problem?” The tiny wizard looked at the huddled elves and lowered his voice once again. “The problem is that Tirn Aill has forever existed in spring and summer. It’s never had an autumn or a winter, and if it does. … Who knows what will happen?”

  “What do you mean? ‘Twill be autumn, and winter, and then spring will come again.”

  Elzgig looked into Billy’s eyes. “Will it?”

  “You think it won’t?”

  “I’ve already read the signs elsewhere.”

  “Have you listened to the trees?”

  “Aye, a number of them.”

  “This one?” Billy pointed to the autumn-tree.

  “I tried, but it kept falling asleep. Trees do not fall asleep, not in Tirn Aill!”

  “And Quercus … ?”

  Elzgig shook his head. “Tirn Aill is slumping into autumn, and I don’t know if it can be stopped.”

  Billy knelt down by Elzgig and examined the leaves in his hand. He glanced over at the elves and said, “Don’t tell the others. Not yet.”

  Elzgig nodded. “Wise choice, my king.”

  “And don’t start with that king stuff. ‘Twould be nice to know there’s a kingdom to rule first.”

  “Agreed, Your Highness, but until you are king, I think it important to keep up appearances.”

  “Aye, perhaps.”

  “Then come, Your Highness.” Elzgig raised his voice. “Let us consult the Witan. Perhaps they can explain what has happened.”

  When Elzgig, Billy, and his elf guard arrived at the huge, hollow tree that was home to the Witan, a few citizens of Faerie already waited outside. They clustered together with others of their kind, mumbling and grumbling—the whole sounding like a hive of angry bees.

  A lone satyr sat to one side, cross-legged, on a flat rock with his head in his hands. Occasionally, he sighed, shook his head from side to side, and moaned.

  Billy approached him. “Sylvys?”

  With sorrowful eyes, the satyr raised his head to look at Billy. His lower lip protruded like a tiny shelf. His habitual buck-toothed grin was gone.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Oh … nothing that would interest Your Highness.”

  “No, no. I’d like to know.”

  “Well, when I—And I—Well, I used to—But now I can’t. Oh, it’s just too embarrassing, You
r Highness.”

  Sylvys slumped back to his original position and resumed his moaning. He was so pitiful that Billy just didn’t have the heart to ask him any more questions.

  Elzgig motioned Billy down to whispering range. “I’ve known Sylvys for a long time, Your Highness. Maybe he’ll tell me what’s troubling him.”

  “No, no. Leave him be.”

  “This could be important, Your Highness. If it’s what I think it is, we should know.”

  Billy thought for a moment. “Well, if you think we must.”

  Elzgig approached Sylvys and placed his tiny hand on the satyr’s shoulder. He leaned close, whispered in his ear, and then waited until Sylvys replied in kind.

  “Nothing’s … come up?” Elzgig asked.

  Sylvys shook his head in the negative.

  “Nothing at all?”

  The satyr shook his head more fervently.

  Elzgig returned to Billy’s side. “It’s worse than I thought.”

  “Worse, how?”

  “The whole mess. The whole blasted mess. And if we don’t do something fast …”

  “What? … What?”

  “Remember what I said before?” Elzgig whispered. “Winter. All over. Ice and everything.”

  “But we still don’t know if that would be permanent.”

  “You don’t understand. … Of course, he doesn’t understand,” Elzgig muttered. “He hasn’t been here long enough. He hasn’t learned anything yet.”

  “What must I learn?”

  Elzgig gazed into Billy’s eyes. For the first time since Billy had met him, the wizard’s sharp, birdlike eyes contained fear. They searched Billy’s face, seeking out something beyond his reckoning.

  “What must I learn, Elzgig?”

  “You must learn what every bird, tree, and animal in Tirn Aill knows. You must understand what most of your subjects only sense. In short, you must learn to be king … and quickly.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The King’s Disease

  “How dare you come to me with this disgraceful news?” Spittle flew from King Ergyfel’s mouth. “I warned you not to fail me, Cairmac! And now you disappoint me, not once, but twice?”

  “But, Your Majesty ...” The Earl of Wyneddham paled.