Spells

Tamani snorted when she said Ticer-ville. “Well, now you do.”

“What does it mean?” Laurel asked.

“Ticer, like en-tice-ment. It’s what we all do. Well, what we can do, anyway. Mostly only sentries ever use it.”

“Oh,” Laurel said with a grin. “Ticer. Got it. Why do only sentries use it?”

“Um,” he began uncertainly, “remember last year when I tried to use it on you?”

“Oh, that’s right! I’d almost forgotten.” She turned to him in mock anger. “I was mad at you!”

Tamani chuckled and shrugged. “Point is, it didn’t work very well because you’re a faerie. So only sentries – and specifically sentries who work outside Avalon – ever really have a chance to use it on non faerie creatures.”

“Makes sense.” Her curiosity sated, Laurel began walking again. Soft fingers touched her waist, guiding her through the still-heavy crowds.

“To the right here,” Tamani said. “We’re almost there.”

Laurel was glad to find herself turning down a much less crowded side street. She felt conspicuous and self-conscious and wished she had asked the tall faerie at the kiosk to put the hair jewels in a box. No one else here was wearing anything even remotely similar. “Are we there yet?”

“That house up there,” Tamani said, gesturing. “The one with the big flower boxes up front.”

They approached a small but charming house made from a hollowed-out tree, though the tree wasn’t like anything Laurel had ever seen before. Instead of a thick trunk growing straight up, it had a wide base and grew out in a round shape, like an enormous wooden pumpkin. The trunk narrowed again at the top and continued to grow up, sprouting branches and leaves that shaded the house. “How does it grow like that?”

“Magic. This house was a gift to my mother from the Queen. Winter faeries can ask the trees to grow any way they please.”

“Why did your mother get a gift from the Queen?”

“As a thank-you for years of distinguished service as a Gardener.”

“A gardener? Aren’t there a ton of gardeners?”

“Oh, no. It’s a very specialised field. One of the most prestigious positions a Spring faerie can aspire to.”

“Really?” Laurel said sceptically. She’d seen dozens of gardeners just around the Academy.

Tamani looked at her strangely for a moment before understanding blossomed across his face. “Not like human gardeners. We would call those Tenders here, and yes, there are a lot of them. I suppose you might call my mother a…a midwife.”

“A midwife?”

If Tamani heard the question, he made no sign. He knocked softly on the ash door of the strange tree house. Then, without waiting for a response, he opened it. “I’m home.”

A squeal sounded from inside the house and a flutter of colourful skirts wrapped itself around Tamani’s legs. “Oh, my goodness, what is this?” He detangled the young faerie and lifted her over his head. “What is this thing? I think it’s a Rowen flower!” The little girl squealed as Tamani tucked her against his chest.

The girl looked like she was maybe a year old, scarcely more than an infant. But she walked steadily and her eyes betrayed intelligence. Intelligence and, Laurel felt certain without knowing why, mischief.

“Have you been a good girl today?” Tamani asked.

“Of course,” the young faerie said, far more articulately than Laurel would have thought possible for a child so small. “I’m always a good girl.”

“Excellent.” He turned his gaze towards the inside of the house. “Mother?” he called.

“Tam! What a surprise. I didn’t know you were coming today.” Laurel looked up and felt suddenly shy as an older female faerie walked into the room. The woman was beautiful, with a lightly lined face, pale green eyes just like Laurel’s, and a broad smile that was beaming at Tamani. She didn’t seem to have noticed Laurel yet, half hidden behind him in the doorway.

“I didn’t know myself until this morning.”

“No matter,” the woman said, taking Tamani’s face in both hands and kissing his cheeks.

“I brought company,” Tamani said, his voice suddenly quiet.

The woman turned to Laurel and, for a second, concern masked her face. Then recognition dawned and she smiled. “Laurel. Look at you; you’ve hardly changed a bit.”

Laurel smiled back, but her face fell when Tamani’s mother inclined her head and bent at the waist.

Tamani must have felt Laurel stiffen, because he squeezed his mother’s hand and said, “Laurel’s had enough formality for one day. She’s just herself in this house.”

“All the better,” Tamani’s mother said with a smile. Then she stepped forward and took Laurel’s face, just like she had Tamani’s moments before, and kissed both cheeks. “Welcome.”

Tears sprang to Laurel’s eyes. It was the warmest greeting she’d had from anyone except Tamani since arriving in Avalon. It made her miss her own mother acutely. “Thank you,” she said softly.

“Come in, come in; no need to stand in the doorway. We have windows enough for that,” Tamani’s mother said, shooing them in. “And since we’re doing away with the formality, you can just call me Rhoslyn.”

Chapter Five

The inside of the house was similar to the dormitory Laurel lived in, except that everything looked simpler. Buttercups specially treated to glow in the evenings – with ash bark and essence of lavender, Laurel recited automatically in her head – hung from the rafters and swung gently back and forth with the slight breeze coming in from the six open windows around the room. Instead of silk, the curtains were made from a material that looked more like cotton, and the coverings on the chairs throughout the room were the same. The floors were a soft wood rather than plush carpeting, and Laurel carefully dusted off her feet on the thick mat before stepping into the house. Several watercolour paintings hung from the walls in bevelled frames.

“These are beautiful,” Laurel said, leaning forward to get a closer look at one that featured a flowerbed full of very tall stems with a single bud at the top of each, ready to bloom.

“Thank you,” Rhoslyn said. “I’ve taken up painting since retiring. I enjoy it.”

Laurel turned to another painting, this one featuring Tamani. She smiled at the way Rhoslyn had so perfectly caught his brooding features. His eyes were serious in the painting, and he was looking at something just beyond the frame. “You’re very good,” Laurel said.

“Nonsense. I’m just entertaining myself with some cast-off Summer supplies. Still, you can never go wrong when you’re painting a subject as handsome as our Tamani,” she said, wrapping an arm around his waist.

Laurel looked at them – Rhoslyn, even smaller than Laurel, gazing proudly at Tamani, Tamani balancing the little faerie on his hip as she clung to his chest. Laurel momentarily felt disappointed realising he had a life that didn’t include her; but she chided herself immediately. Most of her own life did not include him, so it was selfish to wish for more from him than she was willing or able to give herself. She smiled at Tamani and pushed away her gloomy thoughts.

“Is this your sister?” Laurel asked, pointing to the faerie child.

“No,” Tamani said, and Rhoslyn laughed.

“At my age?” she said with a smile. “Earth and sky, no. Tam is my youngest and I was a bit old even for him.”

“This is Rowen,” Tamani said, poking the little girl’s ribs. “Her mother is my sister.”

“Oh. Your niece,” Laurel said.

Tamani shrugged. “We don’t really use terms here for anything other than mother, father, brother, and sister. Beyond that, we all belong to each other, and we help out with everyone’s children.” He tickled the little faerie, and she squealed in delight. “Rowen here may get extra attention from us because she is more closely connected than other seedlings, but we don’t stake claims beyond that. We’re all family.”

“Oh.” It was a concept Laurel both liked and disliked. It would be fun to have a whole society of people who considered themselves part of your family. But she would miss the ties she had to her admittedly sparse extended family.

Laurel blinked in surprise at a small creature that looked like a purple squirrel with pink butterfly wings perched on Rowen’s shoulder. Laurel was sure it hadn’t been there a few moments ago. As she watched, Rowen whispered to the thing, then laughed quietly, as if sharing a friendly joke.

“Tamani?” Laurel whispered, not taking her eyes from the strange thing.

“What?” Tamani responded, following her gaze.

“What is that thing?”

“That’s her familiar,” Tamani responded, suppressing a grin. “At least for the moment. She changes it regularly.”

“Is there any need to tell you I’m totally confused?”

Tamani found a stool and sat, setting Rowen back on the floor. He stretched his legs out in front of him. “Think of it as a not-so-imaginary imaginary friend.”

“It’s imaginary?”

“It’s an illusion.” He grinned as Laurel continued to look flustered. “Rowen,” Tamani said, his voice warm, “is a Summer faerie.”

Rowen smiled shyly.

Rhoslyn beamed. “We’re very proud of her.”

“Creating an illusionary playmate is one of the first manifestations of a Summer faerie’s magic. Rowen’s been making hers since about two weeks out of her sprout. It’s like having a special blanket or pet plaything but way more fun. For one thing, my favourite toys never moved like that.”

Laurel eyed the purple squirrel-thing warily. “So it’s not real?”

“Only slightly more real than any other faerie’s imaginary friend.”

“That’s amazing.”

Tamani rolled his eyes. “Amazing, nothing. You should see the heroic rescuers she conjures up to save her from the monster under the bed.” He paused. “Which is also her creation.”

“Where are her parents?”

“They’re up in Summer this afternoon,” Rhoslyn said. “Rowen is almost of the age to begin training, and they’re making arrangements with her director.”

“So young?”

“She’s almost three,” Tamani replied.

“Really?” Laurel said, studying the girl as she played on the floor. “She looks so much younger,” she said quietly. She paused. “And acts much older. I was going to ask you about that.”

Rowen stared up at Laurel. “I’m just like all the other fae my age. Aren’t I?” She directed her question to Tamani.

“You’re perfect, Rowen.” He scooped her on to his lap, and the pink-and-purple thing settled on to the top of his head.

Laurel forced herself to look away, although she did wonder if it was rude to stare, if the thing you were staring at wasn’t really there. “Let me tell you something about Laurel,” Tamani said to Rowen. “She’s very special. She lives in the human world.”

“Just like you,” Rowen said matter-of-factly.

“Not exactly like me,” Tamani said, laughing. “Laurel lives with the humans.”

Rowen’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yes. In fact, she didn’t even know she was a faerie until last year, when she blossomed.”

“What did you think you were?” Rowen asked.

“I thought I was human, like my parents.”

“That’s silly,” Rowen said dismissively. “How could a faerie be a human? Humans are strange. And scary,” she added after a short pause. Then she whispered conspiratorially, “They’re animals.”

“They’re not so scary, Rowen,” Tamani said. “And they look just like us. If you didn’t know anything about faeries, you might think you were a human too.”

“Oh, I could never be a human,” Rowen responded soberly.

“Well, you’ll never have to be,” Tamani said. “You’re going to be the most beautiful Summer faerie in Avalon.”

Rowen smiled and lowered her eyelids demurely and Laurel had no doubt Tamani was right. With her soft, curly brown hair and long lashes, she was as pretty as any baby Laurel had ever seen. Then she opened her rosebud mouth wide into a yawn.

“Nap time, Rowen,” Rhoslyn said.

Rowen’s face fell and she started to pout. “But I want to play with Laurel.”

“Laurel will be back another time,” Rhoslyn said, her eyes darting to Laurel’s as if to test the validity of that promise. Laurel nodded quickly, not certain if it was the truth. “You can sleep in Tam’s bed,” Rhoslyn added when Rowen still hung back. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said to Tamani, who shook his head.

The little faerie’s face brightened considerably and Rhoslyn herded her down the narrow hall, leaving Tamani and Laurel alone.

“Is she really only three?” Laurel asked.

“Aye. And very normal for a faerie her age,” Tamani said, lounging in the broad armchair. It was fascinating for Laurel to watch him. She had never seen him quite so at ease.

“You told me that faeries age differently, but I…” Her voice trailed off.

“You didn’t believe me?” Tamani said with a grin.

“I believed you. Just, seeing it is something else.” She looked over at him. “Are faeries ever babies?”

“Not in the sense that you mean.”

“And I was older than Rowen when I went to live with my parents?”

Tamani nodded, a small smile flirting with the corners of his mouth. “You were seven. Just barely.”

“And you and I – we went to school together?”

He chuckled. “What good would Fall faerie classes have done me?”

“So how did I know you?”

“I spent a lot of time at the Academy with my mother.”

As if sensing she was being spoken of, Rhoslyn walked back into the room with cups of warm heliconia nectar. Laurel had tasted it once at the Academy, where she was informed that the sweet beverage was a favourite in Avalon and often hard to come by. She felt complimented to be served it now.

“What is a Gardener?” Laurel asked, addressing Rhoslyn now. “Tamani said it was like a midwife.”

Rhoslyn clicked her tongue disparagingly. “Tamani and his human words. Can’t say I know what a midwife is, but a Gardener is a Tender who nurtures germinating sprouts.”

“Oh.” But Laurel was still confused. “Don’t the parents take care of them themselves?”

Rhoslyn shook her head. “Not enough time. Sprouts need constant and very specialised tending. We all have daily tasks to do, and if every mother took off a year or longer to tend her sprout, too many jobs would go undone. Besides, a couple might decide to make a seed just to get out of a year of work, and new life is far too important to be undertaken for so frivolous a reason.”

Laurel wondered what Rhoslyn would have to say about the many frivolous reasons humans found for having babies, but she remained silent.

“Sprouts are nurtured in a special garden at the Academy,” Rhoslyn continued, “like all the other important plants and flowers. Spring and Summer seedlings learn to work by watching others, often their own parents, so Tamani spent a lot of time at the Academy with me.”

“And I was there?”

“Of course. From the time your sprout opened, just like all the other Fall faeries.”

Laurel looked up at Tamani and he nodded. “From the very first day. Like I said. They don’t know you.”

Laurel nodded forlornly.

“Laurel’s having a little difficulty with her lack of fae parents,” Tamani explained quietly.

“Oh, don’t fret,” Rhoslyn chided. “The separation is an important part of your upbringing. Parents would just get in the way.”

“What? How?” Laurel asked, a little disturbed by the casual tone that Rhoslyn – a mother herself – was using to dismiss Laurel’s unknown parents.

“Chances are good your parents were Spring faeries; they would have had no idea how to teach a young Fall seedling. A Fall must be free from these kinds of random attachments with lower faeries,” she said calmly, as if she were not speaking of herself. “They must learn to cultivate their minds to do the work they’re expected to perform. Fall faeries are very important to our society. After even this short time at the Academy, surely you must see that.”

Laurel’s mind latched on to the phrase random attachments. Parents were far more than that. Or at least they should be.

Despite the cosiness of Tamani’s home, Laurel found herself wanting to flee the conversation. “Tamani,” she said abruptly, “we’ve walked so far; I’m worried that we’ll be late getting back to the Academy.”

“Oh, don’t concern yourself,” Tamani said. “We’ve been walking along a big circle, just catching the edges of the settled districts. We’re not far from the Queen’s woods now, and that borders the grounds of the Academy. Still,” he continued, addressing his mother now, “we should be going. I promised the Academy staff this would be a short visit.” Tamani looked at Laurel with concern in his eyes, but she looked away.

“Of course,” Rhoslyn said warmly, completely unaware of the tension she had created. “Come back anytime, Laurel. It was lovely to see you again.”

Laurel smiled numbly. She felt Tamani’s fingers twine through hers, tugging her towards the door.

“Will you be back, Tam?” Rhoslyn asked just before they crossed the threshold.

“Yes. I have to return to the gate at sunrise, but I’ll stay tonight.”

“Good. Rowen should be gone by the time you come back. I’ll make sure your bed is ready.”

“Thank you.”

Laurel said goodbye and turned, leading the way back to the main road they had walked down only a short hour before. When Tamani released Laurel’s hand and resumed his place a few steps behind her, she grumbled incoherently and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Please don’t be this way,” Tamani said quietly.

“I can’t help it,” Laurel said. “The way she talked, she—”

“I know it’s not what you’re used to, Laurel, but that’s how it is here. I’m sure none of your classmates give it a second thought.”

“They don’t know any better. You do.”

“Why? Because I know how humans do it? You’re assuming that your way is better.”

“It is better!” Laurel said, whirling around to face him.

“Maybe for humans,” Tamani countered in a strong, quiet voice. “But humans are not faeries. Faeries have different needs.”

“So you are saying you like this? Taking faeries away from their parents?”

“I’m not saying either is better. I haven’t lived around humans nearly enough to judge. But consider this,” he said, placing one hand on her shoulder, his touch softening the edge of his words. “What if we lived here in Avalon like you do in the human world? Every time some Springs get a Fall seedling, it gets to live with them. They get to raise her. Except that she leaves them to go and study at the Academy for twelve hours a day. They never see her. They don’t understand anything she’s doing. On top of that, they don’t have a garden at their house – a garden she needs to do her classwork – so now she’s gone for fourteen, sixteen hours a day. They miss her; she misses them. They never see one another. Eventually they are like strangers, except that, unlike now, the parents know what they are missing out on. And it hurts, Laurel. It hurts them, and it hurts her. Tell me how that’s better.”

Laurel stood in shock as the logic sank in. Could he be right? She hated even considering it. And yet, it had a certain brutal efficiency she couldn’t deny.

“I’m not saying it’s better,” Tamani said, his voice gentle. “I’m not even saying you have to understand, but don’t think us devoid of emotion because we separate uppers from lowers. We have our reasons.”

Laurel nodded slowly. “What about fathers?” she asked, her tone quiet now, the anger gone. “Do you have a father?”

Tamani fixed his gaze firmly on the ground. “I did,” he said, his voice low and slightly choked.

Guilt rushed over her. “I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to…I’m sorry.” She touched his shoulder, wishing there was something more she could do.

Tamani’s jaw was clenched, but he forced a smile, anyway. “It’s all right. I just miss him. It’s only been about a month.”

A month. Right when he would have been expecting her to come visit him at the land. But I didn’t come. Her chest felt empty. “I…I didn’t know.” She paused.

He smiled. “It’s fine, really. We all knew it was coming.”

“Really? What did he die of?”

“He didn’t die, really. It’s kind of the opposite of dying.”

“What does that mean?”

Tamani took a deep breath and let it out slowly. When he looked up at Laurel again, he was his old self – his mourning hidden away. “I’ll show you sometime. It’s something you have to see to understand.”

“But can’t we – ?”

“We don’t have time today,” Tamani said, cutting her off with a tone that had just a hint of tightness beneath it. “Come on. I’d better get you back so they’ll let me take you again next time.”

“Next week?” Laurel said hopefully.

Tamani shook his head. “Even if I had that much Avalon leave, they won’t let you away from your studies. In a few weeks.”

Laurel found the concept of “Avalon leave” strangely disconcerting – but not as disconcerting as being cooped up in the Academy indefinitely. A few weeks? He may as well have said forever. She could only hope that her next phase of education would pass the time more quickly than sitting in her room with a stack of textbooks.

Chapter Six

Laurel studied her appearance in the mirror the next morning, wondering just what, exactly, an acolyte-level student was supposed to look like. After the fiasco of her first dinner in Avalon, she had taken pains to dress appropriately, but asking anyone what to wear never got her more than a smiling encouragement to wear “whatever you find most comfortable”. She considered her hair – pulled up in a ponytail – then untied the ribbon, letting it fall back down around her shoulders. As she was sweeping it up again, a knock sounded at her door. She opened it and peered out at Katya’s smiling face.

“I thought I’d come show you where to go, for your first official day of classes,” Katya said brightly.

“That would be great,” Laurel said, smiling in relief. She glanced at Katya’s outfit – a long, flowing skirt and a sleeveless, scoop-necked top. Laurel was wearing a calf-length sundress made out of a light material that swung in the breeze and rustled about her legs when she walked. She decided her outfit was similar enough to Katya’s that she wouldn’t look completely out of place.

“Are you ready, then?” Katya asked.

“Yeah,” Laurel said. “Just let me grab my bag.” She shouldered her backpack, which got a sidelong glance from Katya. With its thick, black zippers and nylon weave – not to mention the Transformers patch David had ironed on to it a few months back as a joke – it contrasted sharply with Katya’s canvas shoulder bag. But Laurel had nothing else to carry her note cards in; besides, it was comforting to carry her old, familiar backpack.

They headed out the door and, after a few turns, started down a long hallway lined with sugar-glass windows that flashed in the sunrise and projected the girls’ reflections on the opposite windows. Laurel studied their reflections as they walked, and for a moment lost track of which was her own. Katya was about Laurel’s height and also had blond hair, though hers was short and curled at cute angles all around her head. Most of the other faeries at the Academy coloured their hair and eyes by manipulating their diets, so red- and green- and blue-haired faeries far outnumbered plain blondes and brunettes. It was an interesting approach to fashion that, under other circumstances, Laurel thought she might enjoy. As it was, she had her hands full with the nuances of the unofficial dress code.

They reached a set of double doors from which emanated the scent of rich, damp earth. “We’ll be here for today,” Katya said. “We meet in different places, depending on our projects. But class is in here about half the time.” She pulled open the door, and a wave of chatter drifted out.

Behind the door was a room unlike any classroom Laurel had ever seen. She would ordinarily have called it a greenhouse. Planter boxes full of various greenery lined the perimeter of the huge room, under tall windows that stretched from ceiling to floor; skylights were mounted into the sharply pitched roof, and the whole room was tropically warm and humid. Laurel was immediately grateful for the light material of her sundress, and understood why her wardrobe contained so many like it.