“Because Oberon believes it is,” said Puck. “As do his courtiers, of course.”
“They all believe the mountains are there,” I agreed, for the mountains never changed.
“And the sea, and the stretching moors, and the meadow. Yes. This is the land into which they were born. Originally, of course, it was in the world. Then, as men began to encroach, the Sidhe moved it, but this is the evening land of woods and sea that they were made for, and they believe in it.”
“Do you?”
He shrugged. “It is the land into which I was born as well. Many of my people dwell in those mountains, beside that sea, at the far edge of that moor. Others of my people remained in the world when Faery was removed, and many of us chose to continue there, but this most resembles our ancestral home.”
“But the trees move about. The copses in the meadow are one time here and one time there.”
“The copses shift, perhaps, with those who think of them.”
“I’ve noticed one sizeable copse that always stays,” I said, pointing to one that shone silver against the dark bulk of the hills.
Puck paled, though I am not sure how I saw any change in his color in that long gloaming. “The Copse of the Covenant,” he said. “It was there Oberon stood when he made the pledge to the Holy One, Blessed be He, that no man should come to lasting harm through the Sidhe.”
“And everyone remembers it, so it stays there, in that place,” I said.
Puck shook his head. “If they remember, it is not willingly. I have seen Oberon try to move that copse away. I have seen him send axemen to cut it down. He cannot touch it. It stands.”
“Because everyone remembers it,” I repeated.
“Because the Holy One remembers it,” he said.
I could imagine how annoyed Oberon would be at that, how it would nag at him, reminding him. Puck forestalled further question by reaching out a hand to stroke mine, then he vanished as he usually does, not in a puff of nothingness, but with a sidle which seems to carry him behind something, even when there is nothing to go behind. It is so all the Bogles come and go, there one minute, gone the next, slipping into ways we mortals—or even half mortals—cannot see. I think they are ways that even full fairies do not often see, for, considering Oberon’s hatred of them, if Bogles were easily followed and caught, there would be many fewer of them.
I walked back to the castle, wondering a number of things. Wondering if I could master the Bogle sidle. Wondering why one has to walk or ride in Faery, rather than simply “being” where one wants to be. Wondering, considering the empty feeling at my center, if it might not be time to come back to Wellingford and get something to eat. It seems too much effort. A needless effort.
I summoned all my strength of will and did it.
WELLINGFORD: ONE ROW ON THE CHIMNEYPIECE AND SIX STROKES BELOW
The boots brought me here and I stumbled, weak with hunger. Eighteen months since I was last here, though it seemed merely days, a few days. It was hard to summon strength to stagger to the broken-legged table where the bread was set out, covered with a linen napkin. I will stay here a day or two and eat. I may even raid the kitchen at the Dower House. My clothes are rags. I have already discarded them for others. The warm bathwater was welcome. I soaked off dirt and scabs and washed my hair. Thank God I thought to leave a comb with my clothing.
I came so close not to coming back at all.
LATER
I eat like a starved dog, gulping the food down. I did raid the kitchen at the Dower House, sneaking around the dairy like a ghost before wraithing it upstairs in my cloak to have a look at baby Giles. Such a big boy, now. Vincent has made him a rocking horse, so he must be walking. Well, of course he’s walking; he’s almost two. Grumpkin III was curled beside the baby’s cot. When I came into the room, Grumpkin woke and came to me, rubbing around my ankles, purring loudly enough to wake the house. I sat there and held him, softness beneath my chin, and he reached out a paw to touch my face. I hated to leave him there. I wanted to bring him with me. I cannot. He needs to be here, where there are mice to catch and queen cats to pursue. If I do not return again soon, I will find his child in his stead, and yet leaving him is like leaving part of me.
Now I have eaten, and bathed, and dressed myself. Now that I am fortified, I’m going back once again. Mostly because of curiosity. I want to know what’s going to happen.
LATER
I had mentioned earlier that Oberon has largely ignored me since my return. This morning, or what passes for morning in the eternal evening of this place, he sought me out among the ladies of his court.
“Beauty,” he smiled. “Well met.”
“Well met, Your Majesty,” I curtsied in a flourish of samite and lace.
“We have come to invite you to join the royal hunting party this evening,” he said.
I curtsied again, wondering if this would be another expedition after enchanted deer, wondering how I could say no.
“We go to hunt the moonrise,” he said smoothly, silkily, as though he had read my mind. “In the lands of mortal men. Such a ride may not come again for a lifetime. We beg you to join us.”
I acquiesced, smiling, dropping yet another curtsy. Hunting the moonrise seems innocent enough. I went to find Mama to tell her about the invitation, thinking it would please her. I could not find her, not in the castle, not in the gardens, not near the groves and pools
