contests of various kinds, in which I had little chance of prevailing. I did my best. Running, climbing, swinging from a rope tied to a tree.
Making a fire. They had a secret hoard of useful things there, hidden in a box tied up with rope. I peered into it, expecting marvels—but it held only a flint and a sharp knife, a folded blanket, and a ball of string. And they had a raft. They had made it themselves last summer and kept it tied up to a willow, half concealed under a clump of ferns at the base. I was deeply 48
impressed that they would dare go out on the Deadwash—even at five, I had heard the stories.
“Last race,” declared Costi, who had already won most of the challenges, being leaner and quicker than his brother, as well as more confident. “Jena, you run as fast as you can, over to that big oak there. We’ll count up to ten, then we’ll come after you. Whichever one of us catches you wins. Ready? One, two, three—go!”
Not having time to think about how unfair this was, I ran.
I did my best, one hand holding my crown in place, the other clutching my makeshift cape. The ground was uneven, pitted with stones and broken by crevices. I ran and ran: the oak seemed to get farther away the harder I tried. Costi was laughing as he came after me, his feet swift and purposeful. Cezar had been left behind. The waters of T?aul Ielelor flashed by, a bright blur. The dark woods seemed to close in.
All at once I was terrified. I could hear Costi’s breathing, and it was like the panting of some monster about to seize me and rend me limb from limb. The faster I tried to run, the slower my legs seemed to go, as if I were wading through porridge. Tears blinded my eyes. I tripped and fell, striking my cheek on a knobbly tree root—and Costi was there, grabbing me by the arms and shouting triumphantly, “I got her! I won! I get first pick!”
Cezar came up, breathing hard. “Jena’s crying,” he observed.
“Oh,” said Costi, and let go abruptly. “Are you all right, Jena?” He had the grace to look a little contrite.
49
“Here,” said Cezar, producing a handkerchief from his pocket.
I sat up and blew my nose. “First pick of what?” I asked them.
“What you get to be, in the game,” explained Costi. “King of the Lake, King of the Land, or King of something else.
We’ve never had three before. What do you want to be, Jena?”
“Queen of the Fairies,” I sniffed.
“All right. Here’s what we do next—”
“It’s not so easy.”
The three of us froze in shock. We’d had no idea anyone else was there. But as the voice spoke, we saw an old woman, clad all in black, stooped over in the woods nearby. She was gathering yellow mushrooms into a little basket. Maybe she’d been there all the time; she blended into the dark hues of the undergrowth as if she were just another thing that grew there.
“What do you mean?” asked Costi.
“It’s only a game,” said Cezar.
“Nothing is
“What rules?” asked Costi, frowning.
“Ah,” said the crone, crouching down beside us. She produced a square of cloth from the basket, which she proceeded to lay out flat on the sandy lakeshore. As if drawn by a powerful charm, the three of us crouched, too, waiting. “You can’t claim the title of King without giving something in return. King of the Lake, King of the Land, Queen of the Fairies—such titles 50
are not idly bestowed, nor easily won with foolish demonstra-tions of strength or speed.” She glanced at Costi. I saw his eyes narrow. “You must pay for them.”
“Pay?” asked Cezar. “What with? You mean silver?”
There was a little silence. Then the old woman said, “You must pay with what is most precious to you in all the world.
The thing you love best. Put that on the cloth. Give it up willingly, and the title will be yours to take and to keep. If it were I, I would give these mushrooms, for they will keep starvation from my door for one more day, and what is more precious than life? What will you give?”
We were all impressed. The boys’ faces looked very serious. Costi slipped the chain holding his silver ring over his head and laid it on the cloth. “There,” he said. “I want to be King of the Lake.”
“Are you sure?” the old woman asked him, and the look she gave him was searching.
“I wouldn’t have offered it if I wasn’t sure,” Costi said.
I was only five. Yet I knew I must be brave and give up my treasure. I took off my beautiful crown, which I’d made with such labor and such love. “I want to be Queen of the Fairies, please,” I whispered, setting it down beside the ring.
The old woman favored me with a gap-toothed smile. “Are you sure, little girl?” she said with quiet intensity.
Her voice frightened me even more than her beady eyes. Costi had shown no fear; I felt I had to match him. “Yes,” I said.
The old woman’s gaze moved to Cezar. “King of the Land,”
she said thoughtfully. “That’s the only one left.”
Cezar was pale. He looked as if he was about to faint, and 51
he was staring at his brother. He didn’t seem to be able to think what to offer. I was about to suggest that he give up his cloak when the crone said, “Are you sure?”
