them. Maidens with their twirling skirts, fine men in well-cut tunics. I even sketched the tiny will-o’-the-wisps. I longed for bright colors to fill in the charcoal lines. My friends’ eyes were wide by the fire, and even Tom had one eye open as if he were listening. Where our doctoring had failed, the story might ease his pain.
“The song she heard from the meadow was the same tune as the bird’s call. She looked up in the trees. For a moment she thought she’d lost the bird, and she nearly cried out for him, but he fluttered down, landed right at her feet, and grew into a man.”
“Oh.” Meg sighed. She’d always liked that part.
“He whistled the tune once more, then the fey man said, ‘My lady, will you dance?’
“‘I will.’ She crossed the bridge to the meadow, and danced with the whistler.”
“Tell us they married,” Meg said.
“The story doesn’t go like that,” Poppy reminded.
“It should.” Meg stroked Tom’s blood-clotted hair.
I fumbled with the charcoal in my blackened fingers. As the story went, the girl danced through the seasons, but when she wandered home at last and reached her cottage door, she was a shriveled-up old woman, for a hundred years had passed while she danced with the whistler, and everyone she’d known in her former life had died.
Meg knew how it went. But when our eyes locked, I saw tonight she couldn’t bear it. I found another bit of charcoal. “That very spring when the meadow was in bloom, the whistler, who had fey power to transform into a bird and sing any girl he wished to into the wood, chose the one girl who’d followed him so bravely and so far to be his wife. And she lived with him and the fey folk deep in Dragonswood in DunGarrow Castle, a place that blends into the mountainside and cannot be seen with human eyes unless the fairies will it so.”
I drew the couple hand in hand, rough sketches on the cave wall; the stone wasn’t smooth by any means. “She lived free among the fey folk and never wanted to return to her old life that had been full of hunger and sorrow under her father’s roof.”
I sketched what came next before I could think of it. “A dragon came to their wedding,” I said, drawing his right wing so large, I had to use the ceiling. “He lit a bonfire to celebrate their union.” I drew the left wing spanning over the couple in the meadow. “And they lived all their lives content in Dragonswood.” I sat exhausted, longing for that girl’s happy life over my own.
Meg bent her head over Tom. Her tears fell on his face as she whispered in his ear. Poppy gave me a little nod as if to say, You’ve done well . But changing the story did not change ours. We were trapped with no whistler to come along and sing us into freedom.
PART TWO
The Green Man
Chapter Ten
A T DAWN I heard squealing sounds, hearty snorts, and snuffling. A stick whacked hard against a tree. A dog barked. A man’s voice said, “Get on now.”
I pressed my back up against the cave wall. My companions slept on, curled up on the hard dirt floor behind me. Should I run to the man for aid? If I did, would he turn us in for the bounty?
Undecided, I huddled inside. A brown-muzzled hound came sniffing. Next a pig poked his snout in and snorted. Poppy and Meg woke with a start. A man’s boots appeared. “Move along,” he said. The animals barring the entryway didn’t budge.
Then the voice said, “Out with you, trespassers, and mind I have a sword at the ready.”
We were caught and had no choice but to come out. Meg and Poppy propped Tom up between them. I ducked under the low entrance and stood squinting in the morning sunlight, my knife tucked in my belt under my leper’s robe.
The man was not far from us, standing in shadow with his pigs and growling bloodhound.
“We came here only for shelter, Master Woodward,” Poppy said.
He stepped from the shadow. It was the woodward I’d seen in Harrowton, and later in the barn.
The man drew his
“The song she heard from the meadow was the same tune as the bird’s call. She looked up in the trees. For a moment she thought she’d lost the bird, and she nearly cried out for him, but he fluttered down, landed right at her feet, and grew into a man.”
“Oh.” Meg sighed. She’d always liked that part.
“He whistled the tune once more, then the fey man said, ‘My lady, will you dance?’
“‘I will.’ She crossed the bridge to the meadow, and danced with the whistler.”
“Tell us they married,” Meg said.
“The story doesn’t go like that,” Poppy reminded.
“It should.” Meg stroked Tom’s blood-clotted hair.
I fumbled with the charcoal in my blackened fingers. As the story went, the girl danced through the seasons, but when she wandered home at last and reached her cottage door, she was a shriveled-up old woman, for a hundred years had passed while she danced with the whistler, and everyone she’d known in her former life had died.
Meg knew how it went. But when our eyes locked, I saw tonight she couldn’t bear it. I found another bit of charcoal. “That very spring when the meadow was in bloom, the whistler, who had fey power to transform into a bird and sing any girl he wished to into the wood, chose the one girl who’d followed him so bravely and so far to be his wife. And she lived with him and the fey folk deep in Dragonswood in DunGarrow Castle, a place that blends into the mountainside and cannot be seen with human eyes unless the fairies will it so.”
I drew the couple hand in hand, rough sketches on the cave wall; the stone wasn’t smooth by any means. “She lived free among the fey folk and never wanted to return to her old life that had been full of hunger and sorrow under her father’s roof.”
I sketched what came next before I could think of it. “A dragon came to their wedding,” I said, drawing his right wing so large, I had to use the ceiling. “He lit a bonfire to celebrate their union.” I drew the left wing spanning over the couple in the meadow. “And they lived all their lives content in Dragonswood.” I sat exhausted, longing for that girl’s happy life over my own.
Meg bent her head over Tom. Her tears fell on his face as she whispered in his ear. Poppy gave me a little nod as if to say, You’ve done well . But changing the story did not change ours. We were trapped with no whistler to come along and sing us into freedom.
PART TWO
The Green Man
Chapter Ten
A T DAWN I heard squealing sounds, hearty snorts, and snuffling. A stick whacked hard against a tree. A dog barked. A man’s voice said, “Get on now.”
I pressed my back up against the cave wall. My companions slept on, curled up on the hard dirt floor behind me. Should I run to the man for aid? If I did, would he turn us in for the bounty?
Undecided, I huddled inside. A brown-muzzled hound came sniffing. Next a pig poked his snout in and snorted. Poppy and Meg woke with a start. A man’s boots appeared. “Move along,” he said. The animals barring the entryway didn’t budge.
Then the voice said, “Out with you, trespassers, and mind I have a sword at the ready.”
We were caught and had no choice but to come out. Meg and Poppy propped Tom up between them. I ducked under the low entrance and stood squinting in the morning sunlight, my knife tucked in my belt under my leper’s robe.
The man was not far from us, standing in shadow with his pigs and growling bloodhound.
“We came here only for shelter, Master Woodward,” Poppy said.
He stepped from the shadow. It was the woodward I’d seen in Harrowton, and later in the barn.
The man drew his
Similar Books
