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

after Finn. She wanted to run for Phyllida and tell her that they had made a mistake letting this violent man teach them. She wanted to cry herself. Then all at once, her resolution vanished. The children gathered around Gwidion with trusting little faces as his pencil flew. He drew, and the faces became even more trusting.
    â€œWhat a foolish boy,” Gwidion said condescendingly. “He thinks I hit him—how silly! Don’t you agree?”
    â€œOh yes,” they all said.
    â€œI could never hit anyone, could I?”
    â€œOh no,” came the chorus.
    â€œFinn is a liar, isn’t he?”
    That one was easy, even without Gwidion’s picture of them all credulously clustered around him.
    â€œYes, Finn is a liar,” they echoed.
    Gwidion nodded and tucked the pictures into his vest. His controlling spell over the children didn’t have to be very powerful. You don’t have to get someone to believe something forever—you only have to convince them of it once. After that, however strong the evidence to the contrary, most people will cling to a belief out of sheer stubbornness.
    Meg was left with the idea that something unpleasant had happened, but she couldn’t quite recall what. They resumed drawing, but the joy of her art lesson was gone. Gwidion was all charm and praise once again, but it was evident he was only interested in the boys’ work. Any compliments to her drawing were barbed, and her confidence fell ever lower. When they took a break for lunch, she handed Rowan her smock.
    â€œHere, take this. You’re getting charcoal smudges all over your clothes.”
    â€œDon’t you need it?” he asked as he slipped the lightweight long-sleeved shirt over his arms.
    â€œNo … I don’t think I feel like drawing anymore. I’m not very good at it.”
    This was Rowan’s cue to say she was good and to ask her to stay, but he was too full of Gwidion’s praise and thoughts of his own talent to pay her any mind.
    *   *   *
    Meg finished her treacle tart and headed morosely upstairs to find Phyllida, a little guilty she hadn’t gone sooner. When she was halfway up, a large cat scampered down to meet her, coiling its sinuous body around her ankles so she tripped and caught herself on all fours. She sat on the steps and had started to scold the cat when she realized it wasn’t one of the Rookery felines. There was Old Tom, the fat kitchen tabby who kept the mice in constant terror, and several dairy cats, but she could tell at a glance this wasn’t any of them. For one thing, it had two tails.
    For another, it spoke to her.
    â€œI do like a nap,” he said, licking his paw and looking away from her, as cats will when they are really interested in you. “But even I think four centuries is a bit much. Thank you for waking me from my long slumber, pink one.”
    He stopped licking his paw just long enough to touch her knee with his nose.
    â€œWho are you?”
    He looked at her, surprised. “You did the great magic, did you not? Surely that was all for me, lovely me? I imagine you heard of my great beauty and unsurpassed softness and decided you must stop at nothing to do me this favor. And I, in return, allow you a glimpse of me.”
    â€œI’m ever so sorry, and you are certainly beautiful, but I don’t know who you are, and I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
    The cat squinted his moon eyes at her. “Truly? Then you are indeed a barbarian, as my people have long averred. I am Bake-Neko, and I come from the land where the sun is daily born. Nippon, it is called.”
    â€œDo you mean Japan?”
    â€œPerhaps you call it that, but I do not, or I would have said so.” He looked away again and licked a part of himself that made Meg look away too. His double tails twitched and coiled together like a caduceus. When he had forgiven her, he lifted his front paw and revealed