Read Online Guardian of the Green Hill by Laura L. Sullivan - Free Book Online

mind, in life, thinking, Let this come to pass .
    Then he watched.
    It took no more than a minute for a bee to appear. Had it already been there, irritated by some inner vexation? Or was it a creation that had not existed before it was brought to life with pencil and paper and skill? In any event, it buzzed angrily and made a beeline for Finn. It circled him tauntingly and then settled at the back of his neck. Gwidion watched, trembling in anticipation, and Rowan, noticing his interest, followed his gaze in time to see his picture come true.
    The bee landed, Finn swatted, and the inevitable conclusion was heralded with a howling wail of agony and anguish. (No one but the bee paid any mind to the bee’s anguish, for of course a honeybee dies after stinging.)
    Finn ran around in circles, screaming, and even Meg, who rushed to him in consternation and figured he must have cut a finger off at least, to judge by the noise, thought he was overdoing it a bit. He grabbed and clawed at the stinger, breaking the poison sac and making the pain much worse as a new surge of toxin made its way into his flesh. Finally Meg calmed him down enough to look at the wound, and she used a flat, dull paint knife to scrape away the remains of the stinger. He rubbed and scratched the wound with one hand and scrubbed at his face with the other.
    Everyone but Meg erupted in laughter. Finn, eye bright with wiped-away tears, turned on them with fury.
    Gwidion chuckled. “Oh ho, don’t take it so hard, little man! What is a tiny prick compared with the tribulations life throws at us? Would your ancestor Llyr make such a bellow, or his father before him, Llewellwn?” Mentioning the names was risky, but there was little chance these children had heard tales of their family’s black sheep. He clapped Rowan on the shoulder. “Why, I bet your brother, or cousin, or whatever it is here, wouldn’t hardly flinch if a dozen bees stung him. I thought this family was made of sterner stuff.”
    Finn found his voice at last. “I’m not a member of this stupid family! Rowan’s not related to me. I’d jump off a cliff if he were! I hate all of you!”
    Gwidion’s face hardened and, quick as a shot, he crossed the distance to Finn and boxed his ears smartly.
    â€œImpudent, lying imp, how dare you try to trick me? Get out! Not part of the family? Why waste my time?”
    Meg tried to tell him that Finn had never said he was related to them, that Gwidion had never asked. She was stunned. She’d never seen an adult strike a child before, and though she’d read about children getting spanked or whipped or slapped, it was the stuff of novels, not real life.
    Dickie gave a gasp, but Rowan, almost as shocked as Meg, shushed him with a meaningful look. I’ll keep your secret, Dickie, the look said. You are more one of us than Finn is. It was one thing for the hated Finn to be struck, quite another for friendly, shy, innocuous little Dickie.
    Finn’s face was all shades of red—his cheeks flushed with anger and mortification, his eye scarlet with tears, his ears the brightest of all, crimson from the blow. He stood stock-still for a moment, his breath coming in pants. Then his jaw tightened and he looked at Gwidion with a fixed concentration that nearly made the man quail, for it was the same focused look he knew he had when he willed one of his paintings to come true.
    â€œYou’ll pay for that,” Finn said, evenly and coldly. He looked like he was going to hit Gwidion back. He took a step forward, but as he did so, the great goat who had been kneeling nearby rose. His bleat was like a roar, and he lowered his massive curved horns at Finn.
    Finn looked from goat to master and didn’t like the odds. “You’ll pay,” he whispered again, stern and resolute like a man. Then his strength collapsed and he ran away like a boy. Meg could tell he was crying as he ran.
    She wanted to go