Spells

SEVEN

LAUREL KNELT ON THE BENCH IN FRONT OF HER window with her nose pressed against the glass, squinting at the path that led to the front gates of the Academy. Tamani said he’d arrive at eleven o’clock, but she couldn’t help but hope he would come early.

Disappointed, she wandered back to her work — today, a monastuolo serum that was clearly going horribly wrong. But Yeardley insisted that seeing her failures through to the end, even when she knew they were doomed, would teach her better what not to do. It seemed like a waste of time to Laurel, but she had learned not to second-guess Yeardley. Despite his gruff exterior, the past month had shown her another side of him. He was obsessed with herbology and nothing delighted him more than a devoted student. And he was always, always right. Still, Laurel remained skeptical of this particular rule.

She was about to sit down and toss in the next component when someone knocked on her door. Finally! Taking a moment to check her hair and clothes in the mirror, Laurel took a deep breath and opened her door to Celia, the familiar Spring faerie who had not only cut her note cards but done hundreds of little favors for her over the last few weeks.

“There’s someone here for you down in the atrium,” she said, inclining her head. No matter how many times Laurel asked them not to, the Spring faeries always found a way to bow to her.

Laurel thanked her for the message and slipped out the door. Every step she took made her feel a bit lighter. It wasn’t that she disliked her lessons — on the contrary, now that she understood them better, they were fascinating. But she had been right about one thing from the start: It was a lot of work. She studied with Yeardley for a full eight hours each day, observed the Fall faeries for several hours, and each night she had more reading to do as well as practicing potions, powders, and serums. She was occupied from sunrise to sunset, with only a short break for dinner right at the end of the day. Katya assured her it wasn’t like that for all Falls; that they worked and studied “only” about twelve hours a day. Even that seemed way excessive to Laurel.

But at least they got time off. Laurel didn’t.

“I will admit that the amount of work expected of you is a just a little excessive,” Katya said one day — a huge concession from the studious, loyal Fall. She was rather like David in that way. But when Laurel had tried to compliment her by saying so, Katya had been mortally offended at being compared to a human.

So when Tamani’s note arrived three days ago requesting Laurel’s company for an afternoon, she had been ecstatic. Just a small break, but it was a welcome chance to rejuvenate herself and prepare for one last grueling week of study before she went back to her parents.

Laurel was distracted enough that she almost missed Mara and Katya standing at the railing of a landing that overlooked the atrium.

“He’s here again,” Mara said, disdain dripping from her perfect ruby lips. “Can’t you make him wait outside?”

Laurel raised one eyebrow. “If I had it my way, he’d meet me in my bedroom.”

Mara’s eyes widened and she glared at Laurel, but Laurel had grown only too accustomed to vaguely menacing looks from this statuesque beauty. Things had not gotten better since that first surprising glare in the lab. Laurel generally just avoided looking at Mara at all. And even the one time Laurel had asked her a question about her project — fittingly, research on a cactus — Mara had simply turned her back and pretended not to hear.

With her head held high, Laurel walked on without another word.

Katya fell into step with her. “Don’t bother with her,” she said, her tone warm. “Personally, I think it’s rather brave of you.”

Laurel glanced at Katya. “What do you mean, brave?”

“I don’t know many Spring faeries outside of our staff.” Katya shrugged. “Especially soldiers.”

“Sentries,” Laurel corrected automatically, not really sure why.

“Still. They just seem so…coarse.” She paused and peeked over the railing into the atrium, where Tamani would be waiting. “And there are so many of them.”

Laurel rolled her eyes.

“Of course, the two of you have known each other for a long time, so I suppose it’s different.”

Laurel nodded, although it was only a partial truth. As far as she could remember, she had known Tamani for less than a year. But a year was a lot longer than she could remember knowing any of the Fall faeries she now saw every day. “Well, I’ll see you later,” Laurel said brightly, the weariness of the last several weeks nothing more than a wispy memory.

“How long will you be?” Katya asked with wide eyes.

As long as I can, she thought. But to Katya she said, “I don’t know. But if I don’t see you tonight, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Katya didn’t look convinced. “I really don’t think you should go alone. Perhaps Caelin could accompany you.”

Laurel suppressed the urge to roll her eyes again. By some fluke, Caelin was the only male Fall near Laurel’s age. And even with his puny stature and squeaky voice, he insisted on playing the role of protector for all his “ladies,” as he had dubbed them. The last thing she needed was him hanging around trying to prove he was better than every other male they encountered. Which was exactly what Caelin would do.

She didn’t even want to think about how Tamani would react.

A small smile crossed her face. Then again, maybe it would be interesting. Caelin didn’t look like he’d last ten seconds in Tamani’s presence. She would enjoy seeing him put in his place. But not as much as she would enjoy time alone with Tamani. “Trust me, Katya, I don’t need a chaperone.”

“If you say so.” Katya smiled. “Have a good time,” she said, her tone both earnest and doubtful.

“So where are we going?” Laurel asked after she and Tamani completed the charade of walking silently and formally through the Academy grounds and out of the gates.

“Can’t you tell?” Tamani asked with a grin, gesturing to the large wicker basket swinging from his left hand.

“I said where are we going, not what are we doing.” But there was no annoyance in her tone. It felt so good to leave the Academy behind, to feel the fresh wind on her face, the soft soil under her feet, and to see Tamani out of the corner of her eye, following behind her. She wanted to spread her arms and spin and laugh but managed to hold herself in check.

“You’ll see,” he said, his fingers at her back, guiding her down a fork in the path that led away from the houses they’d strolled through last time. “I want to show you something.”

As they walked, the path narrowed and steepened; after a few minutes they crested the tall hill and for a moment Laurel thought something was wrong with her eyes. Shading the hilltop’s considerable expanse was an enormous tree with broad branches that spread wide. It vaguely resembled an oak tree, with lacy, elongated leaves, but rather than having a tall, statuesque trunk, it was enormously stout, knobby, and misshapen. Laurel suspected it would dwarf even the mightiest of the redwoods growing in the national forest that bordered her land outside of Orick.

Aside from its immensity, it didn’t appear too out of the ordinary, but when Laurel stepped under the shade of its branches she gasped as she felt…something…something she couldn’t identify or explain. It was almost as though the air had grown thicker, swirling around her body like water. Living water that crept into the air she breathed and filled her, inside and out.

“What is this?” she gasped as soon as she found her voice. She hadn’t even realized that Tamani had closed the distance between them and placed a steadying hand at her waist.

“It’s called the World Tree. It…it’s made out of faeries.”

“How…” Laurel wasn’t even sure how to finish the question.

Tamani’s brow furrowed. “I guess it’s…well, it’s a long story.” He led her closer to the trunk. “Ages and ages ago — before there were humans, even — faeries sprang from the forests of Avalon. According to legend, we didn’t yet speak. But there was one faerie, the very first Winter faerie, who had greater power than any faerie before or since. And with that power came tremendous wisdom. When he felt that his time was growing close, he sought to pass on the wisdom he had gained. So instead of waiting until he wilted, he came to this hilltop and prayed to Gaia, the mother of all Nature, and told her that he would give up his life if she would preserve his consciousness in the form of a tree.”

“So…he…is this tree?” Laurel asked, stepping close to the knobbly trunk.

Tamani nodded. “He is the original tree. And other faeries could come up here with questions or problems. And if they listened very carefully, when the wind blew, they would hear the rustling of the leaves and he would share his wisdom. Years went by and soon the birds taught the faeries to speak and—”

“Birds?”

“Yes. Birds were the first creatures faeries heard singing and vocalizing and we learned to use our voices from them.”

“What happened then?”

“Unfortunately, when faeries started talking and singing they eventually forgot how to listen to the rustling leaves. The World Tree was just another tree for a very long time. Then Efreisone became King. Efreisone was also a scholar and he found legends about the World Tree scattered through his ancient texts. Once he pieced together the whole story, he wanted nothing more than to revive the World Tree and harness its wisdom. He spent hours and hours in the shade of this tree, caring for it and bringing it back from its dormancy. And in those hours he discovered that he was beginning to hear the words the tree was saying. From it he learned the stories of the ages, and every evening when he returned home he would write them down and share them with his subjects. And when he felt that his time was growing short, he decided to join the tree.”

“What do you mean, join the tree?”

Tamani hesitated. “He…he grafted himself into the tree. Grew into the tree and became part of it.”

Laurel tried to visualize it. It was both grotesque and fascinating. “Why would he do that?”

“Faeries who become part of the World Tree release their consciousness into it. The wisdom of thousands of faeries lives in that tree. Thousands of thousands.” He paused. “They are called the Silent Ones.”

Realization blossomed on Laurel’s face and she gasped quietly. “Your father did that. He’s part of this tree.”

Tamani nodded.

Laurel stepped away from the tree, feeling suddenly intrusive. But after a moment, she reached out and touched the trunk with tentative fingers. Yeardley had taught her to feel the essence of any plant with careful fingertips — one of the few lessons she had picked up both easily and quickly. She closed her eyes and felt for it now, her hands pressed against the bark.

It was like no other plant she had ever felt. The life didn’t hum gently under her hands, it roared like a mighty river; crashed like a tsunami. She sucked in a quick breath as something like a song flowed into her hand, up her arm, and seemed to fill her from head to foot. She turned to Tamani with wide eyes. “So he lives forever.”

“Yes. But inaccessible to us, so it’s as if he has died. I–I miss him.”

Laurel pulled her hand away from the tree and slipped it into Tamani’s. “How often do faeries do that?”

“Not often. It requires sacrifice. You have to join the tree while you still have the strength to go through the process. My father was only a hundred and sixty — he had a good thirty or forty years ahead of him — but he felt himself start to weaken and knew he had to act soon.” He laughed morbidly. “It’s the only time I ever heard my parents argue.”

He paused and his tone became somber again. “If you join the tree, you must go alone, so I don’t know which part of the tree he chose. But sometimes I swear I can see the features of his face on that branch three limbs up,” he said, pointing. He shrugged. “Wishful thinking, probably.”

“Maybe not,” Laurel said, desperate to provide some words of comfort. After a heavy silence she asked, “How long does it take?” In her mind she saw an elderly faerie being overtaken by the large tree, his life slowly choked from him.

“Oh, it’s quick,” Tamani said, washing away the gruesome picture from Laurel’s mind. “Don’t forget that both the faerie who became the tree and the first one to join were Winter faeries. The tree retains some of that immense power. My—” He hesitated. “My father told me that you select your spot on the tree and submit yourself to it and when your mind is clear and your intentions burn true, the tree sweeps you up and you are changed instantly.” She saw his eyes wander back up to the spot where he thought he could see his father’s features.

Laurel edged a little closer. “You said the tree communicates. Can’t you talk to him?”

Tamani shook his head. “Not to him specifically. You talk to the tree as a whole, and it speaks back in one voice.”

Laurel looked up at the towering branches. “Could I talk to the tree?”

“Not today. It takes time. You have to come and tell the tree your question, or concern, then you sit, in silence, and listen until your cells remember how to understand the language.”

“How long does it take?”

“Hours. Days. It’s hard to predict. And it depends on how carefully you listen. Also how open you are to the answer.”

She hesitated for a long time before asking, “Have you done it?”

He turned to her, his eyes unguarded as she’d seen them only a few times before. “I have.”

“Did you get your answer?”

He nodded.

“How long did it take?”

He hesitated. “Four days.” Then a grin. “I’m stubborn. I wasn’t open to receiving the right answer. I was determined to get the answer I wanted.”

She tried to imagine Tamani sitting silently beneath the tree for four days. “What did the tree say?” she whispered.

“Maybe I’ll tell you someday.”

Laurel’s mouth went dry as his eyes just looked at her and the living air swirled around her. Then Tamani smiled and gestured to a patch of thick grass several yards outside the shady canopy of the World Tree.

“Can’t we eat here?” she asked, reluctant to leave the trunk of the tree.

Tamani shook his head. “It’s not polite,” he said. “We leave the tree available for answer seekers as much as possible. It’s a very private thing,” he added.

Although Laurel could understand that, she was still a little sad to step out of the shadows and into the sun. Tamani set out a sparse picnic — there simply wasn’t much need to eat in the nourishing Avalon sunlight — and they both settled down in the grass, Laurel flopping onto her stomach and enjoying, for this brief interlude, just doing nothing.

“So how are your studies?” Tamani asked.

Laurel considered the question. “Amazing,” she finally answered. “I never knew how many things you could do with plants.” She rolled over to face him, her head propped up on her elbow. “And my mom’s a naturopath, so believe me, that’s saying something.”

“Have you learned a lot?”

“Kind of.” She furrowed her eyebrows. “I mean, technically I have learned a ton. More than I ever thought I could absorb in just a few weeks. But I can’t actually do anything.” She sighed as she slumped back down. “None of my potions work. Some of them get closer than others, but not a single one has really been right yet.”

“None of them?” Tamani asked, an undercurrent of worry in his voice.

“Yeardley says it’s normal. He says it can take years to get your first potion just right. I don’t have that kind of time; not here in Avalon, or before I need to protect my family. But he says I’m doing well.” She turned to look at Tamani again. “He says that even though I can’t remember, it’s obvious to him that I am relearning. That I’m catching on unnaturally fast. I hope he’s right,” she grumbled. “What about you? Your life has got to be more interesting than mine at the moment.”

“Actually, no, it’s really not. It’s been very quiet at the gate. Too quiet.” He was sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest with his arms wrapped around them, looking at the World Tree. “I’ve been doing a lot of scouting lately.”

“What do you mean, scouting?”

He glanced over at her for a second before his eyes returned to the tree. “Leaving the gate. Venturing out to get a better lay of the land.” He shook his head. “We haven’t seen a single troll in weeks. And somehow, I don’t think it’s because they’ve suddenly given up on Avalon,” he said with a tense laugh. He sobered. “I’m looking for the reason why, but there’s only so much I can do. I’m not human — I don’t know how to blend in to the human world. So I can’t get all the information I want. I’m — I’m missing something,” he said firmly. “I know it. I can feel it.” He shrugged. “But I don’t know what it is or where to find it.”

Laurel glanced at the tree. “Why don’t you ask them?” she asked, pointing.

He shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way. The tree’s not omniscient, nor is it a fortune-teller. It’s the combined wisdom of thousands of years, but it’s never been outside of Avalon.” He shook his head. “Even the Silent Ones can’t help me with this. I have to do it myself.”

They lay there for several minutes, sprawled back, enjoying the warm sunshine. “Tam?” Laurel asked hesitantly.

“Hmm?” Tamani’s eyes were closed and he looked almost asleep.

“Do…” Laurel hesitated. “Do you get tired of being a Spring faerie?”

His eyes popped open wide for a second before he closed them again. “How so?”

She was quiet, trying to think of a way to ask without insulting him. “No one thinks Spring faeries are as good as anyone else. You have to bow, and serve, and walk behind me. It’s not fair.”

Tamani was quiet for a while, his tongue running along his bottom lip as he thought. Finally he said, “Do you get tired of people thinking you’re a human?”

Laurel shook her head.

“Why not?”

She shrugged. “I look like a human; it makes sense.”

“No, that’s the logical reasoning for why people think you are a human. I want to know why it doesn’t bother you.”

“Because everyone has always thought I was a human. I’m used to it,” she said, the words out of her mouth before she realized she had walked right into his trap.

He grinned. “See? It’s the same thing. I’ve always been a Spring faerie; I’ve always acted like a Spring faerie. May as well ask me if I’m tired of being alive. This is my life.”

“But don’t you, on some level, realize it’s wrong?”

“Why is it wrong?”

“Because you’re a person, just like everyone else here. Why should what kind of faerie you are define your social status?”

“I think the way human social status is defined is just as outrageous. More, maybe.”

“How so?”

“Doctors, lawyers — why are they so respected?”

“Because they’re educated. And doctors save people’s lives.”

“So you pay them more, and they have a higher place in society, right?”

Laurel nodded.

“How is this any different? Fall faeries are more educated; they save lives too. Winter faeries do even more: They keep Avalon safe from outsiders, protect our gateways, keep us from being discovered by humans. Why shouldn’t they be more revered?”

“But it’s just happenstance. No one chooses to be a Spring faerie.”

“Maybe not, but you choose to work as hard as you do. All the Falls do. It’s not like you just sit around and mix up an occasional potion. You’ve told me how much you study. Every Fall studies hard. Even if they don’t choose to be a Fall faerie, they choose to work and hone their skills to help me. If that’s not worth my respect, I don’t know what is.”

It did make sense, sort of. But it still rubbed Laurel the wrong way. “It’s not just that Fall and Winter faeries are revered,” she said, “it’s that Spring faeries are looked down on. There are so many of you,” she said, her conscience pricking a little when she remembered that Katya had said the same thing only a short time before — though not in quite the same tone of voice. “The Winter faeries may protect Avalon, but it’s the Spring faeries who make it function. You guys do almost all the jobs. I mean, Summers do the entertaining and such, but who makes the food, who builds the roads and houses, who sews and washes all my clothes?” she asked, her voice starting to rise. “You do. Spring faeries do! You’re not nothing; you’re everything.”

Something in Tamani’s eyes told her she’d hit a soft spot. His jaw was tight and he took a few moments to think before answering. “Maybe you’re right,” he said softly, “but that’s just the way it is. It’s the way it’s always been. The Spring faeries serve Avalon. We’re happy to serve,” he added, a touch of pride coloring his tone. “I’m happy to serve,” he added. “It’s not like we’re slaves. I’m a completely free faerie. Once my duties are done, I can do what I want and go where I please.”

“Are you free?” Laurel asked.

“I am.”

“How free?”

“As free as I want to be,” he replied a little hotly.

“Are you free to walk beside me?”

He was silent.

“Are you free to be anything more than a friend to me? If,” and she stressed the if heavily, “I ever decided to live in Avalon and wanted to be with you, would you be free enough to do that?”

He looked away, and Laurel could tell he’d been avoiding a conversation like this.

“Well?” she insisted.

“If you wanted it,” he finally said.

“If I wanted it?”

He nodded. “I’m not allowed to ask. You would have to ask me.”

Her breath caught in her chest, and Tamani looked at her.

“Why do you think David bothers me so much?”

Laurel looked down at her lap.

“I can’t just storm in and proclaim my intentions. I can’t ‘steal’ you away. I just have to wait and hope that, someday, you’ll ask.”

“And if I don’t?” Laurel said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Then I guess I’ll be waiting forever.”