King of the Woodlands

Chapter 19

Lilibeth sat under a drooping willow tree not too far from the cave, eating a partridgeberry jam tart. She was finally allowed to explore out of the cave ("but not too far, you foolish girl," Birgit had added).

She closed her eyes, imagining weekends back at her cottage, picking berries and drinking tea with butter cakes, visiting the farmer's market and reading a good book during stormy nights.

Lilibeth finished off her tart and wiped the flaky crumbs on her trousers. Upon hearing a bluebird sing, she opened her eyes.

Her willow tree sat atop an emerald hill sprinkled with crocuses and cobalt delphiniums. Behind the hill were the dry, near-white grasses and skeins of ivy marking the Woodland King's dark cave, but in front of it lay beautiful, sacred earth.

Oh, I wish I could tell you, dear reader, how beautiful all this nature truly was, but I'm afraid that would take quite a long time, so I'll cut to the chase. Beyond the hill was a gentle glen with a twisting, muddy river that led to a forest of tall oaks—the Fable Forest, where legends lived, where fairytales came to life. Lilibeth wanted to go there, but she wasn't allowed to stray so far.

Danger grows in this place, Albion had warned. Keep your senses alert, but don't ever trust your instincts. Even they can betray you.

But skies and gods, how she longed to live in such a place, a bright green place brimming with such spring charm. She could hear the will-o'-the-wisps singing, the birds chirping.

Go and see, a stupid, reckless voice inside her whispered. It's where you belong.

Don't do it, a sensible voice said. Remember your mother's fairytales about foolish girls who did foolish things? The Faerie Queen chimed in with stay safe, Lilibeth.

She ignored the second voice. Finally, finally, she could dance with the trees and breathe new air. Oh, she'd been waiting for this moment her whole entire life, and this was it!

Oh, but if I were Lilibeth, I wouldn't be acting so impulsive.

Young Lilibeth ran down the shamrock-colored hill in her copper tunic and russet trousers, kicking off her dusty boots as she went. She greeted each blade of grass and gave them names—Caer, Lir, Ione, Gwynham. She caught deep breaths and held them until her face turned red as a tomato Mother picked during summer.

She half-hoped that no one would find her. She'd secretly slept in countless trees and sheds and fields back in Brightleaf, but no search party had come looking for the strangest girl in the village.

But she also hoped that the Woodland King and the others cared enough to come for her if she didn't return. Would they come for her at all? Would he finally step into the light?

Lilibeth shrugged to herself. She'd keep her senses alert like Albion had told her. But I needn't worry about danger right now. She threw stones into the river and peered at the bottom—it was littered with rocks of grey and brown with enough shades to rival a painter's wheel.

She then found a clear pond surrounded by rustling oak trees and lanky yellow buttercups. It smelled like fresh greens and sweet flowers and wild herbs but tasted like nothing at all. Lilibeth left her clothes in a pile near a tree before jumping in.

Oh, the water was delightfully warm. Fat little fish with small black eyes and big smiles nipped at her ankles. She giggled, smiling and showing all of her teeth. And of course, she named all the fish too.

"Good heavens, Tam Lin!" she exclaimed as one of the particularly bigger steel-grey fish belched, sending up a frothy string of bubbles. "What have you eaten today?"

Tam Lin, of course, didn't understand her. He just looked at her with round black eyes and dove under the water again. She named him Tam Lin after the Laird of Clonmel, who had founded the nightly autumn celebration of Samhuin Eve and Calan Beannacht.

Lilibeth jolted when she heard the sound of hooves beating against the soft grass. The fish squealed and took refuge at the bottom of the pond.

Closer and closer the silence crept, falling over her like a veil. There was no insect titter or bird call. Even the will-o'-the-wisps had stopped their delicate singing.

Emerging from the oak trees was a centaur-woman with the serene, gentle face of a doe—liquid black eyes and tawny skin freckled with spots of white. Her antlers were wrought to look like dark tree branches, crowned in leaves and moss. She had the upper body of a human woman, but waist-down she had the form of a white goat.

Lilibeth squeezed her eyes shut, the pond suddenly cold. (Oh goodness, I should've warned our young Lilibeth, but it isn't my job to.)

She dared to only open her right eye just a little bit as the strange centaur woman drew nearer. Scythes of sunlight were reflected in her large, almost curious black eyes.

The centaur held out her hand, and a flock of singing bluebirds burst forth. She bent down so close Lilibeth could smell oak and silver birch and grass.

"What are you?" Lilibeth breathed.

"I am the breath of the forest," the centaur replied in a voice that was so deep yet so light. "They call me She Who Watches, the Keeper of Spring, but you might know me by Airmid."

Lilibeth's mouth fell wide open, but she thankfully closed it before anything could fly in.

"Airmid?" Airmid was the Keeper of Spring and wife of Callirus, the Forest Lord. In stories she appeared as a beautiful young woman in a white gown.

"Did you think I'd be a beautiful maiden like the stories say?"

"Yes," Lilibeth admitted. Don't lie to the Keeper of Spring, the stories warned, for she is infinite and knows everything.

"Oh, human girl," Airmid whispered. A bluebird flew around her head, chirping. "Prisoner of the feared Woodland King. Does he know that you are here because he cannot give you the answers you seek?"

Well, was she really a prisoner? At first, she'd hated the Woodland King, hated him with her entire heart. But now she wasn't sure how she felt. She wanted to be his friend, but she could never forget that even though he'd given her all this freedom, he wasn't letting her go home. Why?

"He won't let me go," Lilibeth said, her voice breaking as she remembered her dream with Mother in it, when they'd settled down to mill soap and tell stories. She swished her legs around in the water, allowing the sun to dry her hair like it was clothes on a line. "Why? Is there truly no way for me to go home?"

"You must stay with the Woodland King," Airmid said. "He's damned them . . . damned them all. Stay with him, or he'll be devoured by the growing shadows along with you."

"Me?" Lilibeth, the poor, sweet thing, was beginning to hyperventilate. "Why me?" He'd never told her about this.

Airmid shook her head, her white tail swishing like a dog's. "Do not go looking for answers. Stay with him, and everything will be righted."

"But I want to go home," Lilibeth whispered. "I . . . care for him, I really do, but can I go home someday?" She thought of her poor father all alone, extinguishing all the hand-poured candles she and Mother had made, washing himself with their triple-milled soaps, sleeping every night knowing he had a dead wife and a trapped daughter.

"Hope," Airmid said. "Hope is the only thing stronger than fear. Keep your hope, my girl."

And she'd tried, she really had. But she was going to fall apart soon. She was tired of pretending that everything was going to be fine when it really wouldn't. Who would come and rescue her? A knight in shining armor? A band of humble, unexpected heroes?

Strength, the Faerie Queen said. Listen to her, Lilibeth. The Woodland King is counting on you.

But how could she save them when she didn't even know what had doomed them in the first place?

"Where did this all come from?" Lilibeth asked.

The Keeper of Spring said, "an ancient spell and a mage. That is all you need to know." She looked up suddenly, eyes wide and panicked, ears pricked. "We are not alone."

And then Lilibeth felt it.