un/FAIR Page 13

  Ryan gave ground, allowing the Red Caps to advance. Freed of the confines of the staircase, they entire troop of them swarmed ahead, their steps shaking the balcony itself. They crashed across furniture or swept it aside, and Ryan wondered what the brownie would have to say about that. Ryan and Alison reached the far side of the balcony, past the bookshelves and next to the curtain at the wall.

  “Your teeth will make a necklace for my wife,” rumbled one of the Red Caps. “Your bones will make a hilt for my sword. Your hands will hold a candle for my barrack.”

  Ryan dropped the sword over the edge. It clanged on the stone floor below. He hauled Alison to the closest gold curtain. “Slide!” he said, and grabbed hold of the velvety fabric, which hung all the way to the floor. He leaped over the balcony rail and slid down the curtain like a rope. The landing staggered him, but he managed to keep his feet. Alison hesitated only a moment, then followed. Nox dove down in the form of a kestrel. With a shout of dismay, the first two Red Caps teamed up to haul the curtain up hand over hand, and for a moment Alison slid in place while the curtain rushed through her fingers. Then she let go and dropped the rest of the way to the floor. The first Red Cap tried to follow, but the moment he put his enormous weight on the curtain, it came away from the wall, dropping him to the balcony and tangling him and his partner up in the fabric like a golden spider web, just as the pattern showed it would.

  “Ha!” Ryan shouted in exultation. He snatched up the sword. “It’s like Hoshi in the episode when—”

  “Not now, Ryan!” Alison interrupted. “How do we get out of here?”

  “That way!” Ryan pointed at one of the library doors. It had a huge gold padlock on it.

  “It’s not a way out!”

  Ryan tried not to get exasperated. How could she not see it? The pattern was so obvious. “Over here! Now!”

  The remaining Red Caps marched double-time for the staircase, but were stymied when, like Alison, they discovered it only went up, not down. Ryan and Alison, the latter looking more and more unhappy, skirted the paper pile on the floor and ran for the padlocked door Ryan had indicated, with Nox flying overhead. The remaining Red Caps recovered themselves and came to the rail of the balcony. One of them barked an order, and all four of them leaped over the side toward Ryan.

  “They’ll kill us!” Alison shrieked.

  The Red Caps crashed into the middle of the portrait. A blizzard of paper rushed up at the ceiling, and schoolwork scattered like giant snowflakes. One Red Cap bounded heavily forward and grabbed Ryan’s neck in a gritty fist. Unexpected fear and revulsion clawed at Ryan and he struggled to pull away, but the thing was too strong. The sword fell from his nerveless fingers. He couldn’t breathe. Blackness skimmed around the edges of his vision. The patterns fell apart in his mind and he couldn’t concentrate enough to touch them. Alison screamed.

  “Now, time’s child, your broken skill is mine. Pop, pop, pop.” It squeezed with stone fingers.

  Then the brownie was there. His tattered cloak swirled about him.

  “You disturbed the papers!” he howled. “How do you presume and dare?”

  The brownie grabbed the nearest Red Cap and swung him around as if he were feather-light. The flailing Red Cap smashed into one of the others, who went down like broken boulders. The Red Cap holding Ryan dropped him to draw his sword. Ryan gasped, sucking in great gulps of air.

  “Run!” he coughed. “That way, now!” Ryan and Alison fled toward one of the other doors, one without a lock. Roars of Red Cap pain and outrage overlapped with screeches and cries from the brownie behind them. Orange light glowed. Together, Ryan and Alison slammed the door. A heavy bar dropped across it and the sounds beyond cut off.

  I adore you! shouted the voice. Time’s Child!

  “You knew that would happen,” Alison panted. Nox clung to her shirt as a nuthatch. “You knew they’d mess up the papers and that the brownie would come for them.”

  Ryan leaned against the wall for a moment. Now that he wasn’t moving, his arms burned from the sword fight and in the spot where the Red Cap had grabbed him. “Yes.”

  “Because you saw the future?”

  “I told you,” he said in annoyance, “I don’t need to see the future here. The patterns are obvious if you just look.”

  “You’re scaring me, Ryan.” Alison’s eyes were wide and she chewed her lip between sentences. “I’m scared to death all the time, but you’re calm. Icy. Aren’t you even nervous?”

  Ryan thought about that. “No.” He spread his arms wide like a grin. “This place is powerful. I like it.”

  “Even though the fair folk have our families?”

  “Yes.”

  Yes, echoed the voice.

  Ryan ignored it and held up the sundial. The shadow moved a tiny tick past IX, and that tiny movement brought a change. He thought about his aunts and his father, imprisoned and scared. He realized anger like ice water had been pooling around his ankles for quite some time, but now it moved up his shins to his waist and chest and chin. A cold calm came over him, black and dreadful, and he tasted blood in his mouth. “I like it here, but I am also angry. I will find my grandmother, and I will have justice for my family.”

  They followed the stone hallway, which was lit by torches in gold sconces, until it abruptly opened into an enormous stable. It smelled of hay and animals’ breath. Thirteen box stalls lined the walls, and in each one was a silver cow with gold horns. Their silvery udders were withered and dry. Each shifted and stamped in their stalls, and their eyes glowed an eerie blue. One of them lowed.

  In front of the first twelve stalls stood a low milking stool made of silver, and on the wall next to the stall hung a neat loop of silver string. Ryan automatically traced the ridged design on his own palm. No other doors led out of the stable. The spiral ended here.

  “Cows?” Alison said.

  “Cows go moo,” said Nox helpfully.

  “Just like my vision,” Ryan explained. “These cows give no milk, so my grandmother and her sisters stole it from my grandfather. Except I don’t think my grandmother actually has any sisters.”

  “What do you—oh!” Alison seemed to get it. “The other twelve were—”

  Ryan nodded. “Did no one ever think why the twelve sisters never came back when the thirteenth was captured by a mortal? It’s because all thirteen of them are the same woman looping through time.”

  “So all twelve—thirteen—of these stools and things”—Alison gestured at them—“are the same object at different moments in time.”

  “Yes.”

  The thirteenth stall was open, and someone was moving inside. Alison looked scared again, but once Ryan saw the stable and the patterns in it, he knew who it was. He hurried toward the stall.

  “Ryan! Wait!” Alison whisper-shouted. He ignored her and yanked the stall all the way open.

  Mom was inside with a silver cow. Her blouse rustled as she shoveled manure into a little gold wheelbarrow. Her hair was a mess, and she wore work gloves of silk embroidered with silver thread.

  “Mom!” Ryan gave a heavy sigh of relief and shifted from foot to foot in the doorway of the stall. “You’re all right!”

  She turned. “Hello, sweeties. I have to clean the stable for my mother.”

  Ryan wavered uncertainly. Even he knew that this was the wrong response. Her voice should have been louder, and her eyes should have gone wider. Instead, she continued shoveling. The silver cow made chewing motions in the corner.

  “Are you all right?” Alison asked.

  “Everything is fine. Perfectly fine.” Mom dropped another shovel of manure into the wheelbarrow. It was brown and smelly, for all that it came from a silver cow.

  “Glamour,” observed Nox. “Slam her. Rule of grammar. Glamour!”

  “Is she hurt?” Ryan didn’t like this at all. Mom should have wanted to hug him. He didn’t want to hug her, but she was supposed to want to hug him. It was practically a rule. “This is weird.”

&n
bsp; “Run along and play.” Mom sniffed. “I have work.”

  “Uh … sure,” Alison said. “Hey, do you know where Star is?”

  “Of course.”

  Alison frowned. “Can you tell us where to find her, then?”

  “Yes.”

  She was doing it wrong. “Mom, tell us where Grandmother Star is,” Ryan put in.

  “You have to take the cow by the horns, dear.” She nodded at the animal in question. It continued chewing.

  “The horns?” Ryan echoed.

  Mom dumped the shovel into the wheelbarrow, picked it up, and trundled it out of the stall, leaving Ryan, Alison, and Nox behind. The cow watched her go.

  “Now what?” Alison said.

  Ryan went over to the cow. It looked perfectly normal, except that its fur was silver and its horns and hooves were gold. And its eyes glowed blue. So he supposed it didn’t look normal at all. He wished it would stop chewing. It was gross. Alison, Nox still on her shoulder, came to stand beside him.

  “The cow has horns,” Ryan said. “Take one. On three.”

  “One,” said Nox.

  “Two,” said Alison.

  “Three!” said Ryan, and they grabbed a horn.

  The world exploded. Ryan felt turned inside-out and upside-down. Colors burst around him, and his senses mixed around. He tasted red and smelled music. It was an awful moment of the purest chaos that lasted less than a second and more than a thousand years. Then it ended and he found himself in his own living room holding a golden cow’s horn. The cow itself was gone.

  For a moment, Ryan thought everything that had happened was a dream. Everything was back in its place—the couch and the comfortable easy chairs and the fireplace and the bookshelves. It came to him after a moment, however, that this wasn’t the living room at home. The furniture wasn’t quite the same—it was more elaborate, more expensive. The bookshelves were carved and inlaid with gold instead of plain wood. The fireplace was set with sparkling gems. And there was no television. Alison stood beside him, looking uneasy. She held a golden horn of her own. Nox popped into a wren and hid in her hair.

  A woman sat in one of the easy chairs, the one Mom usually used. Ryan instantly knew this was Star, his grandmother. He realized he’d been expecting a little old lady with gray hair and wrinkles and gnarled hands, perhaps even a cane. But this woman was young, younger than Mom. Her pale hair looked spun from starlight, and her dress was woven from sunbeams.

  “Ryan, my prince,” Star said. Her voice was honey and music, and Ryan recognized it instantly. “How fine to see you at last. You may kiss my hand, child.”

  Ryan was having none of it, not in the least because he never kissed anyone. “You’re both my grandmother and the bad voice in my head.”

  “Of course.” She smiled a gleaming smile. “You passed the tests and arrived here. We’re so pleased.”

  “You need to let Mom go,” Ryan said firmly, “and you need to save the other adults before the elementals kill them.”

  “That was direct,” Alison muttered.

  Star waved an idle hand in her direction. “Hush, girl. You have mingled a few drops of your blood with the fair folk’s, and I am pleased that you did as I commanded. That should be enough. Be thankful I do not destroy you where you stand.”

  “As you commanded?” Alison said. Nox remained silent for once. He quivered, still hiding in Alison’s hair. “What do you mean, commanded?”

  “Child, can you be that stupid?” Star’s laugh was ice and flame mingled together. “Set the horns down on that table there, and I will share my wisdom.”

  The table Star had indicated was halfway across the room, but Ryan and Alison obeyed. The cow horns were heavy, and landed with a thud. That done, they returned to Star’s chair. Ryan felt he was approaching the throne of an empress, but at the same time he felt hurried and unhappy. The sundial continued to move and time was running, even as his grandmother insisted on talking.

  “I commanded that the pair of you come to this very spot”—Star’s voice was hard now—“because I need an heir, someone to take my place one day, when I am too old to continue as queen. Thanks to the bargain my mother struck when I was too infirm to speak for myself, my daughters can only visit for seven days out of the year, so they cannot be my heirs. But my grandson—my fine, brave, powerful grandson—can stay in Fairy as long as he likes. He only needed to be persuaded to come of his own free will. And you did, my prince. I am so proud.”

  “You did not command me here,” Ryan objected. “I came because the fairies—”

  “Do not use the accursed word,” Star interjected sharply. “You are one of us.”

  “—because the fair folk kidnapped my family and Alison’s sister. We need you to get them back.”

  Star laughed her rich laugh. “Think, my prince. Have you noticed nothing since you arrived? What is this place like?”

  “I don’t want to answer questions,” Ryan said. “I want my family. Where are they?”

  “Indulge me, and I will show you how to save them,” Star replied. “What is this place like for you, my prince?”

  Ryan set his jaw and thought a moment. “Everything makes sense here. I am not afraid very much. I know what will happen, without looking into the future. I read the patterns. I have power.”

  “Because this is your true home. Here, your young girl understands nothing, while you understand everything. It is the reverse of the mortal world, where she understands everything and you understand nothing. There, they call you weird or strange or autistic. Here, we call you royalty. Here, we call you powerful.”

  “Where is my family?” Ryan demanded.

  “Why would the elementals bring you here, to this realm, where you have more power than ever? Look what you have done! You tricked the sylphs and saved one from death. You defeated the undine. You destroyed the salamanders, and fought the Red Cap gnomes. Alone. Back in your world, Ryan, you required help for these things, but here you are more powerful than any of them. Why would the elementals kidnap your family and bring you here, where you are strongest?”

  An awful idea was growing in Ryan’s head, but he didn’t want to look at it closely. “They wouldn’t,” he said.

  “That makes no sense,” Alison put in.

  “No one gave you permission to speak, child.” Star pointed, and a thin chain of ice and silver spun from her fingertips. It wound around Alison, binding her hands and gagging her mouth. It wrapped around Nox as well, and seemed to freeze his shape. He squeaked in terror. Alison’s eyes went wide, and she struggled, but the thin chains bound her tight.

  “Let her go!” Ryan yelled.

  “Did you want to play with her, my prince? Mortals are fun to keep as toys, but they must never be allowed to think they can become more than that.”

  Outrage swept over Ryan. Star might be his grandmother, but grandparents weren’t supposed to act like this. They were supposed to be kind and twinkly and give good advice. This was wrong. All wrong. The red anger worm twisted inside him, and he looked at Alison. The chains binding her were made of tiny links that were themselves made up of tiny links that were also made up of tiny links. It was a perfect pattern. Too perfect, in fact. All it would take was a single interruption. He flicked a finger into the chain and snapped one of the minuscule links. The released stress shattered the links on either side of it, which shattered the links on all sides of those. The shattering spread up and down the chain with cricks and cracks until with a bang the entire chain fell to bits and vanished. Alison dropped gasping to her knees. Nox coiled around her shoulders as a tiny snake.

  Star clapped her hands. “Wonderful! Stunning! Perfect! Do you see, my prince?”

  “No.” Ryan’s voice was cold. “You are cruel and dreadful.”

  “I merely did that to make a point: only a true prince is strong enough to break the curse of a queen. And Ryan is a true prince, far stronger than any elemental.” Star smiled from her chair. “Please accept my apologies, Miss
Alison. Would you like something to eat?”

  She gestured at an empty end-table, and a mouth-watering selection of cookies and little cakes appeared from thin air. A pot of hot chocolate stood among the plates. The bakery smells were rich and sweet, and they made Ryan’s mouth water.

  Fuming, Alison got back to her feet. “What kind of stupid game is this?”

  “You are saying”—Ryan’s voice was taut—“that the elementals did not kidnap my family and Alison’s sister.”

  Star’s smile was serene. “Have some cake. Or some hot chocolate. It is quite delicious.”

  Alison started to reach for some, but Nox whispered in her ear, and she pulled back. “No, thank you.”

  Ryan glanced at the tray. That single glance showed him another pattern. The food and drink were both created of the fairy realm, and were bound tightly to it. Anyone who ate or drank would also become part of the realm, unable to leave it. He shook his head.

  “If the elementals didn’t take my family, who did?” he asked, though he was sure he knew the answer.

  “Stop teasing, daughter.” Into the room hobbled an old woman carrying a basket under her arm. With a start, Ryan recognized her as the woman from his vision of Ireland. She had delivered Mom and the aunts when they were babies, and was Star’s mother. That made her Ryan’s great-grandmother. Without greeting anyone, the woman limped up to the coffee table, and from the basket she took the elaborate tree clock Ryan remembered from the birthing. Its hands both pointed at ten minutes to midnight. Ryan automatically checked the sundial. Its shadow pointed to X. Only two numbers left.

  The tree clock’s little sun and moon clicked on their clockwork arms above the twisted branches of the tree, but there was something new. Four crystals the size of quarters hung from the bark like Christmas ornaments. Trapped inside each like flies in amber was a single tiny figure. With a pang, Ryan recognized each one: Dad, Aunt Zara, Aunt Ysabeth, Theresa. None of them were moving. Whether they were asleep or dead, Ryan couldn’t tell. A strong, strong pattern held them in place. The anger returned, but this time it mixed with fear.