Twelve
Outside Knife’s window the stars were beginning to fade, the first light of dawn creeping up over the horizon; the table beside her was littered with candle stubs, and scribbled notes lay everywhere. She had been reading all night, and her eyes were so blurred with exhaustion that she could hardly see the page-but still she could not bring herself to put Heather’s diary down…I have chosen the name of Miss Harriet Oakwood, a young woman lately arrived from the Continent, which I hope shall help to explain any oddities in my speech and manner. I shall be attended on my journey by Lily, a faery of maturity and good sense, who is to accompany me in the guise of a spinster aunt, and act as my chaperone. She knows much of the human world, and I will be glad of her guidance. Still, I could wish that Lavender might come with me as well; it pains us both to part, knowing that it may be years before we meet again. Nevertheless, she is too loyal a friend to grieve me by begging me to stay. I only wish I could say as much for Jasmine…
Knife rubbed her temples, trying to silence her nagging headache. Just a few more pages, she told herself…I had thought at first that she would be pleased with my good fortune, but her own sad experience Outside (of which I still know little) had filled her with misgivings, and she all but pleaded with me not to go. “You are already skilled at your craft,” she said, “and have no need to learn another. Why venture among the humans, when you might serve the Oak as well by remaining here?” and with many other such flattering words she sought to persuade me. She spoke earnestly, and I knew that her concern for my welfare was sincere; yet to follow such counsel would be madness, and I fear I was quite short with her in making my excuses. Since then she has been cool toward me, and it seems that our friendship, such as it was, has come to an end. As has this, the first of what I hope shall be many diaries; I shall leave it behind with the other relics of my life in the Oak, and begin a new volume when I reach my destination. Till then, dear reader, farewell!
That’s all? thought Knife in disbelief as she turned the final page and found it empty. Heather had spent months taking lessons on every aspect of human life imaginable. She’d written freely about the struggles of learning to pass herself off as human, and how anxious she was to succeed. All that work, all that anticipation, until finally she was ready to go out into the human world-and yet she hadn’t even explained what the Queen wanted her to do there, or why it was so important!
On the other hand, it didn’t seem as though Heather was deliberately trying to hide the truth about her mission; it was more like she’d assumed her readers already knew the answer, so there was no need to tell them. Knife closed the book and propped her chin on her hand, thinking. What had she read elsewhere in the diary that might help her understand why Heather had to leave the Oak?
Then she remembered Jasmine’s words: You are already skilled at your craft, and have no need to learn another…
So Heather was going out to learn a new skill. Something she couldn’t learn by staying in the Oak…
Galvanized by a new idea, Knife snatched up her notes and began leafing through them for confirmation. What if the Oakenfolk hadn’t lost their creativity along with their magic, as she had assumed? What if they’d never been creative to begin with, and all their inspiration had come from the human world they called Outside?
Of course! Knife had seen for herself that humans were gifted with amazing powers of invention. They always seemed to be moving forward, discovering new things-unlike the Oak, where everything stayed the same, or even went backward if the faeries weren’t careful. So that must be why the Oakenfolk had needed people like Heather, willing to go out and learn new skills and ideas from the humans, and bring that information back to the Oak.
And yet, Knife realized as her excitement began to subside, the theory didn’t explain everything. Why had Heather said that her mission might take years to complete? Why had Jasmine’s return to the Oak caused such a scandal, even though she’d learned how to draw while she was away and was willing to share her knowledge with the others?
I need to find the rest of Heather’s diaries, thought Knife as she slid the book under her mattress and lay down. But where do I start, when I don’t even know who gave me this one?
“Wake up, you lazy-” Mallow’s heavy fist pounded on Knife’s door. “Do you hear me? Get up at once!”
Knife rolled over, groaning, and winced as the morning light struck her face. How long had she been asleep? All she knew was that it hadn’t been nearly long enough. “All right, I’m coming,” she mumbled as she dragged herself out of bed.
Mallow stood on the landing, arms folded and legs braced wide. “Do you know how late it is? While you’ve been lolling about, the rest of us are starving-or soon will be, if you don’t get yourself downstairs and do your duty!”
“Downstairs?” Knife regarded her blearily. “What for?”
“To guard the Gatherers, of course! After what happened to Linden, they won’t set foot out of the Oak without you, and they’ve been waiting since dawn-so you’d best hurry up, or I’ll report you to Her Majesty!”
That was the beginning of a long and unpleasant day. Exhausted as she was, Knife soon found that her weakened wings slowed her down even more. It was a struggle just leading the Gatherers across the field, and they had barely reached the wood when she had to sit down and rest. After a little while she mustered enough strength to try hunting, but her hands shook on the bow, and she wasted several arrows before bringing down her only prey of the morning-a scrawny young robin.
“A fine catch,” sneered Mallow when Knife brought the half-plucked carcass to the kitchen. “And I see you haven’t wasted any of your precious time dressing it either. Well, my proud lady, you’d best take out that fancy knife of yours and finish what you started, because it’s certainly not my business to do your work for you!”
Knife had no strength to argue, much less obey. Without a word she walked out, knowing that the other workers would be perfectly willing to clean and cut up the robin even if Mallow was not. But the Chief Cook had no intention of letting Knife escape so easily. She followed her all the way down the corridor and up the Spiral Stair, cursing her laziness and incompetence in tones loud enough to be heard all over the Oak. Not until they were nearly at Knife’s door did she run out of insults and huff back down to the kitchen again.
When she had gone Knife stopped and leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. It would have been so easy to turn around and hit Mallow right in her smug face-but what good would that have done?
She tried to take another step, but her legs wobbled, and she had to sit down.
“Knife.”
She turned to see Valerian standing a couple of stairs above her, holding out a hand. Too tired to protest, she took it and let the Healer pull her to her feet.
“You need to rest,” said Valerian, and then to Knife’s surprise she added, “If Mallow should bring her complaint to the Queen, I will intercede for you.”
“It’s not your quarrel,” said Knife.
“No, but neither is it yours, for all that Mallow tries to make it so.” Valerian walked with her up the last few stairs and around the curve of the landing, until they stopped at Knife’s own door. “She will never be content until you are as unhappy as she is.”
“Unhappy! She’s in her glory down there in the kitchen, ordering everyone about, making them all frightened of her. Why should she care about me?”
“She hates you,” said Valerian calmly, “because you make her feel unimportant. Though she could force your obedience, she could never bully you into fearing her. You have a strength and a confidence that she lacks, and though deep down she knows you have done nothing to deserve her hatred, that only makes her hate you all the more.”
Knife frowned at the older faery. She could sense truth in what Valerian was saying-but how did the Healer know? She had never heard anyone in the Oak talk like this before, explaining someone else’s thoughts and feelings. If she hadn’t known it was impossible, she might have thought Valerian had been spending time with the humans.
“Go and rest,” said Valerian. “I should not have told the Queen you were fit to return to duty. You are far more weary than I thought.”
Knife felt a prick of guilt-she would have been well enough if she hadn’t stayed up all night. But how could she explain that to Valerian without telling her about Heather’s diary? So she gave the Healer a subdued nod, then
