“It’s too cloudy,” said Timothy. “Or maybe the legend was wrong. I don’t know.” He seemed defeated already, his hands in his pockets and his shoulders slumped beneath the backpack’s weight.
Linden looked behind her and saw a low-walled garden with a stone cottage behind it. Perhaps it hadn’t been part of the original churchyard, but it might give her a better view…and she climbed up onto the tiny lawn, treading carefully to avoid the shoots of young daffodils that were just beginning to nudge through the grass.
At first she saw nothing beyond the cathedral but a haze of leafless trees and the rocky shoulder of a faraway hill. She stood on tiptoe, straining with all her senses…and gradually the island appeared to her, shining out from the mists.
It seemed almost to float, independent of the sea, and the grass that velveted its slopes was not the uncertain yellow-green of early spring but the deep emerald of midsummer. A little wood grew on one side of the island, and its leaves too were green, as though winter had never touched them.
“Timothy!” she shouted down to him. “I see it!”
He scrambled up to join her, one hand pressed to his injured side. “Where?”
“Right there,” she said eagerly, pointing ahead. “A minute ago there was nothing, and then…”
Timothy squinted into the distance. “I don’t see anything. Here, move over and let me stand where you are.”
Linden stepped to one side and he took her place, but his frown remained. “I can’t see anything,” he said. “Are you sure it wasn’t just the clouds?”
“I’m certain,” she said. “I can still see it now.”
Timothy let his hand drop back to his side. “Of course you can,” he said, sounding disgusted. “You’re a faery yourself, and you knew what you were looking for-their glamour couldn’t fool you. You could probably have spotted that island from the window of the coach, if only I’d given you the chance.” He kicked the turf, stomped a few paces-and stopped.
“Did you say an island?” he said. He sounded dazed, almost dreamy, and he was looking off at a different angle, beyond the cathedral tower.
Linden followed the line of his gaze, and let out a slow exhalation of surprise. He was right: There were two islands. But if he could see them as well…
She bent to examine the turf at Timothy’s feet. What she’d taken for daffodil shoots were actually a smooth- leaved plant she’d never seen before. When she broke off one of the leaves, the juice that welled out had a sweet, fruity scent, but it left no stickiness upon her fingers.
“I think we’ve found Gruffydd’s magic herbs,” she said, smiling up at him.
With the iron key in his pocket, a clump of strange plants in his backpack, and his injured side clumsily patched together with bandages and gauze, Timothy felt like he’d just come back from a visit to the witch doctor- but he couldn’t deny that the magical herbs seemed to do exactly as the legend claimed. Eyes fixed on the distant islands, he and Linden made their careful way down the slope of the churchyard, past the ruins of the Bishop’s palace, and out beyond the stone walls of the cathedral yard. Within minutes they had found a footpath that would lead them toward the sea.
“How are we going to get out to the island?” Linden panted as they hurried along. It was past noon, the sun high above them, but the air was still cold enough to make Timothy’s lungs ache. He had to catch his own breath before he could reply: “We’ll have to hire a boat, I guess.”
Preferably one with a motor, or at least a good pair of oars. He hadn’t a clue how to sail, but Paul had taken him rowing on his last visit to Oakhaven, and he’d learned a few things then. Never mind that he’d probably rip his side open on the first stroke, or how likely it was that some current would grab hold of the boat and whisk the two of them straight out to sea…
The path grew rockier as they walked along, the countryside more open and wild. Soon they had left St. David’s behind, and were edging around the side of a steep and rugged hill. Timothy paused to get his bearings, and when he looked out at the choppy waters of Cardigan Bay, he could now see three distinct green islands.
“We need to go over more this way,” he called back to Linden, but she had lagged behind, and he could no longer see her. He was cupping his hands to his mouth to shout again when he saw her flashing toward him at faery size, her wings buzzing frantically.
“They’ve found us!” she gasped, circling around him. “The Blackwings-they’re here!”
Timothy looked up to see two familiar ragged shapes flapping across the sky toward them. The first raven’s wings beat the air with smooth, powerful strokes, but the other’s flight was halting, as though it had been injured…
He broke into a run, leaping from rock to rock with blind urgency as he angled down the gravelly slope toward the sea. The green islands looked so close-he knew he hadn’t a prayer of reaching them, but there was nowhere else to go except back and he wasn’t ready to give up, not like this, not yet The world pitched over and he hit the ground hard, skidding his palms raw on the stony ground. His side flared with agony as he rolled over, sickeningly certain the Blackwings had caught him in their spell-but then he saw his shoe trapped between two rocks, wedged there by nothing more sinister than his own carelessness. He wrenched his foot free, ignoring the throbbing pain in his ankle, then scrambled around and pried the shoe loose so he could put it back on.
“Hurry!” screamed Linden, her voice so high he could barely hear it. She was just a speck in the distance now: He’d never catch up to her. But the ravens were almost upon him, weaving through the air, a shimmering web of magic coalescing between their wings. Timothy limped down the hillside as quickly as he could, eyes raking the slope for some sign of cover. He’d seen a lopsided heap of stones on the far side of the hill, ruins of some ancient monument. If only he could find something like that, he might be able to hide-but though his gaze swept the ground in every direction, there was no sign of shelter.
A tingling heat raced up his back, and all his hair stood on end. Timothy knew at once that he’d been touched by magic-but as the electric feeling died, he realized that the iron key in his pocket was still protecting him.
Relieved, he scrambled around the side of the hill and back onto the footpath. The ravens wheeled above him, regrouping for another try…no, wait. There was only one of them now. Where was the other? He looked around-and a great black shape leaped into him, snarling.
Timothy tumbled flat onto his back, rigid with horror as he stared up into the glowering eyes of an enormous hound. It bared its teeth, and hot breath steamed over his face, reeking of carrion. Then a word rumbled up from its throat, slurring over the dog’s lips and tongue but horribly comprehensible just the same:
“ Checkmate.”
He couldn’t see Linden anywhere. Not that it mattered: There was nothing she could do. You didn’t warn us they could be dogs, too, Rob.
The dog reared up, heavy paws lifting from his shoulders-and suddenly he felt a booted foot on his chest instead. “I know about the iron you carry,” said a cool voice, and he looked up into the faery’s hard, contemptuous eyes. “Attempt to touch it, and I will snap your neck.”
The remaining raven flapped down onto the path, folded its wings-and became another male faery, like a slightly flawed copy of the first. He flexed his stiff arm and winced, then slapped his brother on the shoulder and broke into a grin. “Good hunting, Corbin.”
“The hunt is not over yet,” said the taller Blackwing, his eyes still on Timothy. “The little rebel escaped-but in that small form, she cannot fly far. We will take her soon enough.”
“How did you…find us?” gasped Timothy. The Blackwings didn’t know about the Children of Rhys; if he kept them talking long enough, then Linden might be able to fly to one of the magical islands, out of their reach. “Thought we’d thrown you off the scent.”
“We track by magic, not some human stench,” said Corbin with contempt. “With a hair from the girl’s head in our possession, all we needed to catch you was patience and time.” Then he leaned down and said softly, “But where, I wonder, were you headed? And what did you hope to find there?”
Timothy faked a fit of coughing, buying himself a few precious seconds to think. “We were looking for some…magical plants. They’re…supposed to grow around here. Because Linden’s Queen…she’s dying.”
Corbin made a scornful noise. “And for this you chose to throw in your lot with the Forsaken, and risk your very life? Only a fool would believe such a tale.”
“She promised me…gold…if I helped,” Timothy wheezed. “As much as I wanted.”
Behind them, the injured Blackwing laughed. “Gold! Say rather a handful of acorns and a few withered leaves,
