eye. But she—she’ll take your
The three sisters backed slowly away, not taking their eyes off Peter. Before the last sister left, she pointed at Peter, then at her eye, and jabbed at the air with a hook claw.
THE CERULEAN-EYED WOMAN stared at Peter. They all did. Peter glanced about, looking for an escape.
“Don’t be frightened, boy,” said the older elf as he dusted off his leggings. “Anyone that stole the witch’s very eye has nothing to fear from the likes of us.” He gave Peter a wry smile of admiration.
The other elves nodded in agreement and put away their swords.
The old elf extended his hand. “Sergeant Drael of the Lady’s First Guard, at your service.” His face broke into a broad grin.
Peter liked the elf’s smile. He shook his hand and smiled back. “I’m Peter.”
“This,” the elf extended a hand toward the woman, “is the Lady Modron, daughter of Avallach. The Lady of the Lake and the Queen of all Avalon.”
A queen? Peter wasn’t sure what a queen was, but judging by the way the elves treated her, it must be something important. He took a closer look. She appeared a bit frail to him, with her fine bones and long, thin neck, yet he sensed strength from her. Maybe it was the confidence in her stride, the way she glided through the forest, the way she looked at all things as though they belonged to her. She was elegant and graceful, but Peter thought her eyes a bit too far apart, her face too long, making her appear animalish, spooky even.
“So, Peter,” Drael said. “How did a boy end up in the clutches of Ginny Greenteeth?”
“Who?” Peter asked.
“The witch.”
“He’s not a boy,” the Lady said, appraising Peter. “See his ears. He has faerie in him.”
“What is he then?” Drael asked.
The Lady gave Peter another long look. “He’s a mystery. A most intriguing mystery.” She looked at Peter’s chest. “He’s been marked.”
Peter looked down at himself. He was covered in mud and blood. The cuts in his side were bleeding steadily, the bug stings were red and swelling, and the bite around his nipple was turning black. He’d been so intent on escape he’d not even noticed, but now the wounds began to hurt, the one on his chest burning. His hand did, too. He held out his palm; it was an angry red and dotted with white blisters.
The Lady bent down and lightly touched the edge of the bite wound. Peter flinched and sucked in a breath.
“Come,” she said. “We need to take care of that or the poison will spread.” She held out her hand.
Peter hesitated.
“It’s okay,” she said.
Peter took her hand and she led him up the trail. The elves fell in, three in front and three behind. Peter looked up at her as they walked. She smiled at him. Peter decided he liked holding hands with a queen, liked it very much.
The trail led into a lush glade; at its center sat a circular pond surrounded by large, flat, white boulders. A gentle stream cascaded over the stones, sending a soft ripple across the pond’s surface. The water was crystal- clear.
Peter caught sight of small, colorful fish chasing one another just below the surface—on second look, he noticed that they had the upper bodies of men and women. The winged wee folk skated across the surface as they zipped about snatching bugs out of the air.
The Lady unhooked the clasp on her shoulder, letting her gown drop. She waded out into the pool until her fingertips touched the water. The sunlight glittered off the surface and danced along her gleaming white skin. She closed her eyes and raised her face to the sun, basking in its warmth.
She spoke a few words that Peter didn’t understand and sank beneath the water.
The elves spread out, perching among the surrounding rocks, and watching the woods.
Peter waited for the Lady to surface. He waited a long time. No one could hold their breath that long. He glanced around at the elves, but none of them appeared concerned. He walked up to the bank, caught a flash beneath the water, and saw her, a silvery shape swimming like a fish around the pool. She bobbed up before him and gestured for him to come in.
Peter took off his wolf pelt and tested the water with his foot. It was cool but not cold and felt good on such a warm day. He waded in to his waist and felt something tickling his ankles. The fish people were flittering around his feet, feeding on the silt.
The Lady took his hand and pulled him into the deeper water, until his tiptoes could just touch the bottom. She drifted behind him, draping her arms over his shoulders. Peter stiffened.
“Let go of your fear, Peter,” she whispered.
Peter took a deep breath and she took him under, pulling him down to where the water was dark and cold. Peter could just make out the blurry rays of the sun dancing on the surface far above him. His lungs began to tighten and he felt a twinge of panic.
Her arms squeezed about him and he thought of her sharp teeth. Did she mean to drown him?
Her voice drifted to him, a muffled song resonating through the depths. The water began to warm around him. He felt a steady thumping, like a heartbeat, could hear the swish of blood through his own veins and arteries and it was as though he was back in his mother’s womb. His pulse began to slow, matching the rhythm, two hearts beating as one. His lungs no longer ached for air. He felt part of her, of the pool, the water itself his lifeblood. Her voice the faintest tickle in his ear,
Peter spat out a mouthful of water and sucked in a deep lungful of air. He blinked against the sunlight. Where was he? Then he saw the Lady and nothing else mattered. She was the most perfect creature he could imagine, and he couldn’t understand how he ever thought otherwise. His heart fairly strummed with her vision, all he wanted to do was gaze upon her forever.
The Lady examined him. “The poison is gone,” she said, looking satisfied. “The wounds will heal with time.”
Reluctantly, Peter tore his eyes from her and glanced down at his chest. There was only the slightest pink trace of the bite mark left. The slashes in his side were closed and the hundreds of insect stings had vanished.
They got dressed and lay out upon a wide, flat stone to warm themselves in the sun.
Peter was watching a heron drift by overhead when a host of hoots and howls burst from the trees. He sat up. A crew of long-armed creatures came swinging into the clearing. They were a bit larger than raccoons, black manes sprouting around their necks. Their small, dark eyes were close-set and their snouts were long, reminding Peter a bit of wolfhounds. They scampered up to the far bank on short legs and knuckles, slurping noisily as they drank from the pond.
“What are those?”
“Barghest,” the Lady said. “Be careful, they can be nasty if given the chance. They’ll certainly rob you of anything they can get their hands on.”
The creatures hooted and barked as they drank.
Peter cupped his hands to his mouth and mimicked their hooting.
The barghest fell silent, all of them staring at Peter. Peter jumped up and let loose several more hoots. The creatures erupted into a volley of irritated barking, the lot of them leaping away into the trees and disappearing into the woods.
The Lady laughed heartily and the sound was music to Peter’s ears.
“That’s good, Peter. How’d you learn to do that?”
Peter shrugged, then began to mimic the whistles, hoots, chirps, and calls of the other animals. Soon all the creatures around the pond were cocking their heads quizzically at him.
The Lady laughed long and deep, and even the elves couldn’t help but smile.
