Chapter 17
Pixies are sometimes mistaken as delicate because of their small stature and gossamer wings. But in that tiny body dwells a giant’s spirit. The most fragile and changeable thing in the world is not a pixie’s wings, but a pixie’s temper.
—EXCHARIAS, SYLVAN POET
It was a long night, but no other threats appeared in the forest. Thea was relieved her father was not waiting as the patrol returned to Scarhamm. The leaders would report to Tordon at dawn, and Thea headed directly to her bedchamber, exhausted.
After a few hours’ sleep, she put on her best brown trousers, green shirt, and a brown leathern vest that she wore on patrol, and left the fortress.
She walked briskly, avoiding eye contact with the guards as she exited the gates.
She didn’t care to answer any questions, though at least this time she wasn’t sneaking into a mysterious shadow realm.
The forest was alive with its midday bustle. Birds called to their mates while squirrels chattered in the treetops. The peaty scents of greenery held a hint of decay. Thea’s boots trampled yellow and red leaves into mud on the path.
It was a long walk to her destination, which gave her plenty of time to think. There were too many things that didn’t make sense, and no one in Scarhamm could help her put it all together.
First of all, Veleda’s wards around Scarhamm were weakening.
But that didn’t explain why the Skrattis were able to come above the ground on any night, even when the moon wasn’t full, and why Thirstwood’s blood trees were not attacking them.
Could Thea’s father’s powers be waning? It was the Sylvan king’s connection with the trees that gave the Sylvans true protection.
She had to admit, her father hadn’t been the same since his battle with Selkolla.
When the Seer’s lightning had struck him, he’d gone down and stayed there for too long.
Thea remembered her blank-minded terror when she thought he was dead.
She’d been so relieved when he’d recovered, but had he, completely?
Even questioning his strength would be seen by her father as a betrayal.
Still, the king had shown less attendance at training, and he’d barely gone to any revels.
He didn’t even go into the forest much anymore.
It would be so like him not to admit what he considered weakness.
Thea’s steps grew heavy with anger, and she had to unclench her jaw.
Second, shadow creatures and silver trees like the ones in the Forgotten Realm were appearing in Thirstwood.
Veleda had attributed this to the veils between realms breaking down.
If nothing was done, would this world become part of that one?
Or disappear altogether? Would the forest folk survive?
And if they did, what kind of Sylvan lived in a forest of metal trees?
She shivered at the thought, lifting her face to reassure herself that the sun still shone.
If that gloomy, hidden kingdom subsumed her world, it would be worse, even, than living in the Cryptlands.
A realm with no sun? She half wished she’d visited sunny Welkincaster when Cassia had offered. She’d seen too many shadows lately.
Which brought her to her third point. She knew Damon was stringing her along the way he parceled out information in such small quantities.
But she had to keep asking questions. A lost Sylvan can be freed, but only if another is offered in her place.
Was the “lost Sylvan” her mother? And what could she do about those other poor folk trapped at Damon’s dance?
The need for action made her want to unsheathe her sword and slash something.
She needed to talk this out, but even if her cursèd throat didn’t close up at the mere thought of mentioning the shadow realm, her father wasn’t going to tell her anything, and Veleda’s tongue was tied by her father’s rules.
Tordon and Tibald might know something, but they were loyal to her father, too.
She could speak to her sisters, but she was certain they didn’t know any more about this than she did.
To Thea’s reckoning, that left a pixie Seer with a sharp tongue who would at least tell her the truth if she asked.
She reached the pixie settlement in late afternoon, only realizing she’d crossed a boundary when something whizzed past her ear. An arrow?
She put her hands up to show she meant no harm. No doubt there were about fifty more pixie bows trained on her. “It’s me, Theodora, daughter of Silvanus. There’s no need to shoot.”
“Our pine needle arrows show the truth of things,” a small voice said. “We had to make sure you weren’t one of the shadows.”
“Shadows?” Thea asked, her body tensing.
“They’ve thickened in the forest,” one of the pixies replied. “Sometimes we see shapes like animals, but if you go near, they lose form and fade away.”
Thea shuddered, remembering the beast that had grabbed Enora. Damon had also made his shadows into birds. Was he making them into other animals?
“Our arrows make them lose their form,” another added. “It’s hard to tell in twilight, so we couldn’t be sure you were real.” The pixie’s tone became wary. “But what brings you to a pixie village, anyway, Sylvan?”
“I’m sorry to come here without an invitation,” she said. “I seek audience with your wise young Seer, Autumn. I need her… esteemed guidance.” Thea didn’t know if that was flowery enough to soothe the pixies’ pride, but it was the best she could do.
“Autumn is ill,” said a voice from Thea’s left. She made sure to turn slowly, keeping her hands up. “She’s not taking visitors.”
“Can I do anything to help?” Thea asked, not liking the idea of Autumn being sick, even if her words did bite sometimes.
Another voice piped up. “Come into the shrine. You may speak with our elder.”
Thea’s heart leaped with excitement. She’d never been invited into the pixies’ shrine.
She’d heard about it, of course. It was a special meeting place for the elders to dispense their prophecies, as well as a place of worship.
The pixie religion was mysterious. They didn’t share much with outsiders, so this would be a rare opportunity.
Suddenly, a familiar pixie with long white hair flew out from the trees. “Giantess, what are you doing here?”
“Winter?” Thea’s lips parted in shock. “You’re the elder?”
“Of course not.” Winter’s small eyes rolled upward. “Good blooming lilacs, these Sylvans are thick. Come this way, Giantess, and I will make sure you don’t get lost. I know how confused you get in your own forest.”
Pressing her lips together to stifle a scathing reply, Thea followed Winter, who flew ahead, his wings beating almost as fast as a hummingbird’s. He led her along paths that were so narrow, Thea had to turn her body sideways, branches scraping her stomach and back.
“Almost there,” Winter assured her, dropping his voice to add, “if you can fit.”
The path led to a round building that seemed to be carved from a hill, its open door barely large enough for Thea to crawl through.
The interior was a circular space perhaps ten feet in diameter.
Enormous by pixie standards. The plaster walls had been painted with a swirling design of interconnecting flowers, all their vines and stems leading to a sunflower motif on the ceiling.
A round window in the center of the ceiling allowed the late afternoon light in.
“You may sit,” Winter said, running a hand through his shiny hair before gesturing down. “Just don’t squish anyone with your giant ar—”
“Oh, what now?” another high voice shouted. “Who are you and what brings you to my shrine?”
Her attention drawn to the voice, Thea saw a pixie woman with white hair done up in elaborate braids sitting on a toadstool in the center of the shrine. Her dress was bright yellow, and her mouth was puckered with irritation.
“My great-grandmother, Sunflower,” Winter said in a whisper. “She’s not as friendly as I am. Watch what you say.”
Not as friendly…?
Thea, who was still on hands and knees, straightened as far as she could and bowed respectfully from the waist.
“You’re a big one, even for a Sylvan,” Sunflower said, looking up at her. “Trying to grow as tall as your father, I see. It hurts my neck to look up at you. I thought my great-grandson told you to sit. Don’t you know how to take a kindly invitation? Sit, girl. Sit!”
With great care, Thea folded her—apparently huge—frame into a sitting position, crossing her legs so she took up as little space as possible.
“Well,” the elder said. “That’s marginally better. What’s your name?”
“Theodora, but most call me Thea.”
“I call her Giantess,” Winter interjected.
“They’re all giants to us,” Sunflower said. “Not very innovative. Go back to your tutor and tell him to instruct you on how to have an imagination. The Ancients know you were born without one.”
Winter grumbled something that sounded like “old witch.” Thea coughed to cover his words.
“What’s got you hauling yourself over to these parts?” Sunflower asked. “Not like you Huntsmen to take an interest in us.”
“Of course we’re interested,” Thea assured her. “Our patrols regularly speak to your scouts. We protect all the forest folk.”
“Do you? If that’s so, why have your patrols ignored Autumn’s warnings? She told you about the silver trees, didn’t she? What have you done to stop them coming into our woods?”
“That’s why I’m here,” Thea said. “I have bits of information, but I can’t put it all together on my own. I need her help.”
Sunflower sighed. “My great-granddaughter has lately been incapacitated by her visions, but she has lucid moments. I suppose we could try. Calla!” she shouted. A nervous-looking pixie appeared in the doorway. “Bring Autumn. Tell her we’ve got a big one here.”
A big one. Thea pressed her lips together, recovering her patience with an effort. “Thank you for allowing me inside.”