“Why?” I whispered.
“Hush,” said Puck. “Watch now!”
We stood at the edge of the trees as other of the Sidhe came over the hills and kept coming, more and more of them, more than I had ever seen or had known existed. Puck whispered into my ear as they came, identifying them, telling me about them. These were Faery folk, though not of Oberon’s lineage, and they came from afar: an army marching from Tirfo Thuinn, the lands beneath the sea; a mounted troop of the Plant Annwn, led by their King, Gwyn ap Nud, and another troop from the Plant Rhys Dwfen; people of the Gwyllion; Ethal Anbual, the Sidhe king of Connaught, galloping down the hill at the head of a great host of his people, mounted all on golden horses.
The warrior Queen Tyton came. She was armed with an ebon bow and silver arrows, and she wore the crescent moon upon her helm. Around her gathered a host of warrior maidens, all serious-faced and fell, with knots of red upon their breastplates to show they intended that their blood be shed to the last if need be. Their banners bore the image of the hoodie crow and they cried names of Neman, Macha, and Morrigu in shrill voices. These are the three names of Badb, the goddess of war.
Came also the seven winter sisters, Cailleach Bheur of the Highlands, Black Annis of the Dane Hills, the Loathely Hag of the Midlands, the Gyre-Carline of the Lowlands, Cally Berry of Ulster, Caillagh ny Groamagh of the Isle of Man, and Gentle Annie of Cromarty Firth (where winter is softer yet more treacherous than most), all in gray robes, their heads wreathed with gorse, and their faces the color of blue-gray stone. They bore triangular banners of gray with a tiny sun in one corner, and their voices were the voice of winter wind calling death upon the world.
“Why do they come?” I cried to Puck again. “I thought it was only Oberon and his folk! Are they all following Oberon?”
Puck shook his head and held my hand tightly. “They are following Israfel and his kindred,” he said. “The Long Lost have gone among them, speaking of the end of time. They know why they are fighting, Beauty. See how they look at you out of the sides of their eyes, without seeming to. See how they glance. It is why we came late to this meadow, why we are posed here against the trees. It is so they can see you, Beauty. They will carry your image and your name into battle, like a flag. It is for you, all this array.”
I had not noticed the glamour until then. It was around me as it had been when we confronted the seraph, as much, and yet a different thing. A truer thing. I was as beautiful, but they were not seeing me, but what I carried.
“Tss,” whispered Puck as he saw the tears in my eyes. “Hold your head high and do not dare to weep. They are going for you, and they must not see you weeping when they go.”
It was a very great host. Many faces in that array showed the determination to die quickly for some great cause rather than to die slowly for none.
I, who was dying slowly, could not find it in my heart to abuse them for that.
And still they came, from afar, from the new world as well as the old, from the islands of the sea, from the forests of Africa, from great chasms and mighty rivers, from all the places of the world where Faery had made a home. I did not know the names of a tenth of them. Even Puck did not know them all.
And when the last of them had come, Mama came riding out from the edge of the host, up the long slope toward us. She looked very wan and worn.
“I told Oberon you could not guide us,” she said. “So he’s left you out of it. Besides, with all this.…” She turned to gesture at the host and sighed. “It was funny to watch him when they started coming. He suddenly remembered who he was! He suddenly measured himself against Israfel and did not want to appear unworthy.” She said it with a tiny smile, a tiny, mocking smile. “He is Oberon once more, as I remember him from the distant past. Here at the end of things, he is Oberon once more, perilous and puissant.”
I threw my arms around her. “Where are you going?” I asked.
“The route we know best,” she said. “To the cavern on the heath. The same place the ride took you.”
“I’ll go with you that far,” I said. She nodded and turned back to join the host.
Puck pulled at my leg. I looked down and he whispered to me. “If you ride with them, Beauty, wear your boots, bear your cloak, carry everything that matters to you.”
“I don’t even know where my things are,” I said. “I haven’t seen some of them since I was taken to hell.”
“They’re here,” said the Fenoderee. “I gathered them up for you and kept them safe.”
And there they were: boots, cloak, and book. He stowed the book in the cloak pocket and slipped the boots on my feet. The cloak I tied behind me, where I could get it in an instant.
“The Dark One hasn’t forgotten what you did,” Puck whispered again. “You’d be wiser not to go at all.”
“It may be the last time,” I told him. “The last time I see Mama. I can’t just let her ride away without going with her as far as I can. You have to understand about mothers, Puck. I’m one, and I know. You can’t always do for your children what you’d like to do.
