Chapter 13

 

Peter fell silent for a long moment, absorbing Lily’s theory as the fields merged into Carlion’s version of suburbia. Smaller castles dotted the landscape that once must have belonged to lords and ladies, like Sir Ector, and the other knights of Arthur’s day. The servants of each castle bustled about in livery very much like that of Isdemus’s servants, except in different colors: green with silver trimming, royal blue with white, and so forth. One of the castles had a garden in front, and several enormous fireflies hovered over it. Peter did a double take and realized they were not fireflies at all, but little nimbus pixies.

Far in the distance, he could see the edges of an orchard advancing very slowly towards the road. He saw a single speck in the distance that looked like a farmer, and then suddenly trees sprang up from the soil and grew towards the sky before his very eyes. That was when Peter realized that in the last thirty minutes or so of their ride, he had seen a good number of field hands, but not a single piece of farm equipment. He remembered what Kane had said the night before: “We don’t use technology because we don’t need it.”

Then he remembered what Fides Dignus had said about exploring the castle: “I’d save it for a day when the precipitation specialists order rain.” Peter looked up, suddenly suspicious of the cloudless sky, revealing an uncommonly cheerful sun.

Lily began to pull back on Candace’s reins, and she slowed to a trot. The castles had thinned out, and aside from the occasional harried servant galloping past them into town, the countryside was eerily silent, like the calm before a storm.

Then, all at once, the city burst into view. The main road emptied into a major thoroughfare, impassable by horse. Kane stopped at the hitching post just outside of town and dismounted. The others did the same, their eyes so wide that they scarcely had attention to spare in order to glance at one another in stunned amazement.

Several of the spires on either side of the street towered high, marked with battlements just for show. Cobbled red sandstone paved the street itself: Peter had never seen a color like it before. He happened to glance over at Brock, who was shaking his head with a look somewhere between shock and disgust.

Everything was loud, from the colors to the sounds to the smells. The villagers of Carlion possessed absolutely no concept of complimentary or matching colors, and instead seemed to be trying to out-do each other in garishness. There were emerald greens and fuchsias, with clashing floral and plaid patterns beneath royal purple silk capes and leather boots with zips up the center, which seemed to be all the rage. An elderly woman passed by with a basket over her arm filled with eggs and laced with a crimson ribbon through the handle that ended in an enormous floppy bow. She tipped her hat to them in greeting, which burst with a fan of feathers arrayed as if a miniature peacock had plopped down on her head. Nor was she the only one: ostentatious hats adorned the heads of nearly every female not dressed in the livery of one of the castles. Some were shaped like medieval-style dunce’s caps with veils floating on top of them, some like eighteenth century bonnets, and still others like wide-brimmed sombreros. All of them burst with feathers, flowers, and the occasional piece of fruit.

Squawking birds and braying donkeys roamed throughout the crowd, and the clop of obedient horses and the delighted screams of children pierced the air. Several of the children pounded away at a peculiar kind of instrument that seemed to be a cross between a bell and a cymbal. About every fourth person glowed like the noonday sun, and some of them fluttered above the crowd, aloft on one, two, or even four pairs of wings. There were giants, elves, and graceful hybrid creatures that none of them recognized, and none of the townspeople gave the slightest indication of surprise at their presence.

Cole caught up with Peter and said anxiously, “Some of those creatures look exactly like the ones that attacked us last night!”

“Yes, but they’re not,” said Lily. “Those are nimbi. They glow.”

“I know, but they look the same!” Cole insisted.

“They are the same,” said Kane, sidling up to him and adding, “In substance, anyway. Just like good people and bad people are all still people.”

“Brock?” said Lily. “You all right?”

Brock looked like he was about to be sick. He nodded with difficulty but did not reply.

“What’s with him?” Peter asked, trying to sound casual. In truth, though, he felt just a bit nauseous himself.

“His worldview is coming in direct contradiction with his senses,” said Kane matter-of-factly. “We call it the Schism Response. It’s not uncommon.”

Cole looked at his brother with concern. “How come the rest of us aren’t having it, then?”

“I was already a Seer,” said Lily, shrugging.

Kane added to Cole, “You’re pretty gullible, too. You’d probably have become a Seer even on the outside, if anybody had ever pointed out to you that the penumbra exist.”

Cole looked affronted at first, but he thought about it for a moment and nodded in as if he couldn’t really argue. Then he looked at Peter. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m…” Peter began, swallowing hard. “Sure. Sure.”

Kane flashed Peter a superior smile and announced to Cole, though his eyes never left Peter’s face, “Peter is too much of an empiricist not to have at least a few adjustment issues, aren’t you, Peter? Having been raised by a Watcher had to help, though, at least a little.”

Peter flinched, and then scowled at Kane.

“What’s an empiricist?” said Cole.

“He means I only believe in things I can experience with my senses.” Peter looked around at the city, which assaulted nearly every one of his senses to the point of overload. Then he added grudgingly, “I’d say this qualifies.”

Lily patted Peter on the shoulder sympathetically, and said, “You’ll get used to it.”

“Pete, look!” Cole cried. He pointed at a cart in the street that read Pickled Snapdragon. “They’re giving samples! Want to try?”

“Are you completely mental?” Brock snapped. “You can’t just eat something off the street. It could be poisoned!”

“It’s not ‘off the street,’” Cole retorted, taken aback. “They’re selling it, aren’t they?”

Kane watched the brothers bicker with amusement. “He’s entering Stage Two of the Schism Response already. That was quick,” he observed to no one in particular.

“Oh yeah? What’s Stage Two?” Brock demanded.

Kane regarded him mildly. “Stage One is shock. Stage Two is either misdirected anger or paranoia – depending on the person. Sometimes both.”

Brock’s jaw muscles popped out as he ground his teeth and took a threatening step towards Kane, who did not look the least bit concerned, even though Brock was significantly bigger than he was. Brock snarled, “Where should I be directing my anger, then?”

“Brock!” said Cole, alarmed.

“Back off, little brother,” Brock growled at Cole without looking at him, still towering over Kane.

Instead of responding, Kane merely smiled and sidestepped him, approaching the cart that boasted Pickled Snapdragon. When he got close enough, he said to the owner pleasantly, “Hello, Dolores.”

The round woman with rosy cheeks looked up at him as he approached, and exclaimed with surprise, “Well, bless me, if it isn’t Kane the Watcher!” She spoke with a thick cockney accent, and winked at him. “Haven’t seen you around in ages! Isdemus hasn’t been keeping you too busy, has he?”

“Oh, I spend almost all my time outside city walls these days,” Kane replied with a charming smile.

“Well, of course you do – you’re so important, being the youngest Watcher ever and all!” She looked as if she might have pinched his cheek if she’d been close enough. “Tell me the truth, now,” she added, and leaned forward, lowering her voice, “what’s it like out there? On the outside? Is really it how they say – with scandals and adventures all the time?”

“Better,” Kane replied conspiratorially. “All the stories you’ve heard don’t even begin to do it justice. But don’t take my word for it,” he said, and turned to gesture gallantly behind him. “These four have spent their whole lives on the outside!”

Dolores looked where he was pointing, apparently unaware until that moment that he was not alone. When her eyes fell on Peter, though, her eager expression changed to shock. Peter shifted uncomfortably. “Bless me,” she murmured again, and then wheeled on Kane and demanded in a loud whisper, “Who is that?”

The smile on Kane’s face froze. “His name is Peter Stewart.”

“Peter Stewart…” Dolores repeated, still staring at him, her face slack with awe. Then suddenly she cried, “Lydia, come here, you’ve got to see this!” Immediately a buxom girl in an apron appeared from the back of the cart expectantly, and Dolores pointed at Peter, as if he weren’t standing right there, able to hear every word. “Who does he remind you of?”

Lydia’s eyes followed Dolores’ finger, and her mouth fell open. “Well, I’ll be…”

“It’s just a coincidence,” Peter mumbled, jostled on either side by passersby. He moved nearer to the cart in order to escape the flow of traffic.

“Sure it is,” murmured Dolores, still wide-eyed.

Cole cleared his throat. “Listen, would it be all right if we just…” he pointed at the sign that promised samples. He licked his lips and said, “I’ve never had snapdragon before.”

“Oh, of course, of course!” said Dolores, and she and Lydia hurriedly pulled five full sized pickled snapdragons from the vat of vinegar and wrapped them in paper, handing them around to the teenagers.

“No,” said Brock firmly, moving to block Cole from accepting one. “I don’t care if Stewart poisons himself, but you are not eating that.”

“Oh, but it’s fine if I poison myself too, I suppose?” said Lily sarcastically.

“I don’t care what you do,” Brock snapped without looking at her.

Cole seemed to visibly gather his courage and said all at once, “Youarenotthebossofme!” He exhaled swiftly after he’d said it, like he couldn’t quite believe it, and before he lost his momentum, pushed his stunned brother aside and snatched a snapdragon from Dolores, who looked distinctly uncomfortable. “How much do we owe you?” he said to Dolores boldly, and then added, biting his lip, “Er, you do take British pounds here, right?”

Dolores looked confused. “Pounds of what?”

“We don’t use money here,” Kane explained, still gazing at Cole with an expression that looked somewhere between amused and impressed. “Everything runs on the barter system in Carlion.”

Brock snorted. “I should’ve known.”

Lily frowned at Kane. “You mean… in all of these shops, people can just go in and take whatever they want?” She pointed down the road, where filigreed wooden signs jutted out into the street, announcing practical things such as “Groceries,” “Homeware,” and “Cafe.” There were plenty of street traders too, and most people had baskets on their arms or on their heads or their backs, full of fresh produce for dinner.

“Of course,” said Dolores, as if it were obvious. “Long as everybody contributes, it works out just fine, don’t it?” When they didn’t reply right away, she asked, “Isn’t that how it works on the outside?”

“Definitely not,” Brock scoffed, and pulled out his wallet, waving the bills in the air condescendingly. “On the outside, everybody pays money. Nobody cares if you contribute or not.”

Peter gave him a disgusted look. “Speak for yourself. Not everybody’s as spoiled as you.”

“He’s having a Schism Response. He doesn’t mean it,” Cole defended his brother.

“Because that was so totally out of character for him?” Peter countered.

Cole looked like he was just about to reply when suddenly he began to gag on his snapdragon. They all looked up at him sharply; his eyes were watering and he rested one hand on his knee while the other held the crumpled paper as far from his face as he could get it. He managed to choke out, “I’m fine… I’m… fine… It’s just... a little... gross...”

“Told you,” Brock muttered.

Peter glanced down at his own untouched snapdragon, suddenly anxious to find a bin. “Well, we’d better be moving on. Nice to meet you both. Thanks for the snapdragon.”

As they moved down the street, more and more passersby noticed Peter, pointed and turned to whisper to one another. He tried to ignore them, focusing instead on the filigreed wooden signs, which became stranger the further they went into the city. One said, “Portal Pictures: half-price sale on China all week!” but it looked exactly like an ordinary framing shop, and the pictures under the advertisement were not of China at all, but mostly portraits that looked like they belonged to someone’s family tree. Peter stepped closer to get a better look, and suddenly felt the uncomfortably familiar sensation of a hook behind his navel. The next thing he knew, his face was plastered against the glass.

“They’re wormholes!” Peter cried.

“Of course they are, didn’t you see the sign?” said Kane, laughing.

“Well, I wasn’t totally sure a portal and a wormhole were the same thing,” Peter grumbled, sliding himself down to where the glass became concrete so he could pry himself away from the event horizon. “How come it doesn’t suck up the glass, then?”

“The space specialist anchors it to the ground,” said Kane, pointing to a balding, red-faced man inside who waved to Kane cheerfully when he saw him. “He leaves the portals close enough to the street to serve as advertising. You know, to get you in the door.”

“Or through the window,” Peter muttered, rubbing his cheek. As he turned around again, he caught sight of a pair of preteen girls ogling him and whispering to each other. As soon as he made eye contact with them, they ducked their heads and started giggling, scampering off into the crowd. Cole shot him a sympathetic look, and Peter affixed one hand on his forehead like a visor, hoping to ward off the stares.

“You always wanted to know what it felt like to be popular, right?” Cole whispered, gesturing to the direction where the girls had disappeared.

“No, I didn’t,” Peter whispered back indignantly. “I wanted to know what it felt like to not get made fun of all the time. Not the same thing.”

“They weren’t making fun of you!” said Cole.

“Felt like they were.”

Ahead of them, another sign said “Water Specialists: Jim and Brenda Garvey.” On top of the shop, there was a second floor with a balcony, where a squat, Indonesian-looking man (presumably Jim) coaxed water from an unknown source into the shape of an enormous bouquet of exquisite roses. Beside him, a plump older woman who must have been Brenda held her hands over the rose sculpture and said something. Then Jim grinned at her and set the bouquet down, completely solid, next to an array of similar sculptures.

“What are they doing?” said Cole.

“Ah, yes,” said Kane. “Jim usually works with the farmers to water the crops, but he and Brenda are getting ready for the Anderson wedding this weekend. They’re both water specialists, but he’s more artistic than she is and she’s better at freezing. They collaborate to make ice sculptures for special occasions. It’s always their gift to the bride and groom.” Kane waved cheerfully at the Garveys, and Jim raised an arm to wave back, at which point he lost control of the water sculpture he was working on, and sprayed himself in the face. Cole stifled a giggle.

As Peter watched Jim and Brenda, he nearly tripped over a swarthy man with a handlebar mustache sitting cross-legged on the pavement. He was playing a wooden flute, which nobody could hear, and he was shirtless except for the suspenders holding up his high-water trousers. Beneath the trousers he wore, incredibly, a pair of red and white striped socks that looked exactly like Bruce’s “lucky” ones.

“So this is where he got them,” Peter muttered to himself. But that gave him an idea. “Hey, Kane,” he called, catching up to him, “where do you buy clothes here? Er, barter for them, I mean?”

Kane arched an eyebrow at him and said dryly, “Why, you want to get a t-shirt for a souvenir?”

“Ha ha,” Peter made a face at him. “I want a hat. With a really, really wide brim.”

Brock started laughing scornfully. “You want some feathers to go with that, Stewart? Or how about a nice bunch of grapes?”

“Brock, stop being such a git,” Cole muttered.

“I just want something to hide my face,” Peter shot back defensively. “I’m sick of everybody looking at me.”

Kane bit his lip. “Wait here,” he said, and ducked off. Less than a minute later, he returned bearing a plain red baseball cap, and held it out to Peter.

Peter blinked. “Thanks,” he said uncertainly, and put it on, tilting the brim as low over his face as he could.

“That was… weirdly nice of him,” Lily whispered when he was out of earshot.

“Yeah,” Peter agreed, bewildered.

Cole interrupted, speaking to Kane. “Fire maker?” he said, pointing to a sign that read “R.J. Huffman, Fire Maker.”

“He’s not there right now, I’m sure,” said Kane. “He’s got twelve apprentices and they all split up to cover all the castles, lighting torches and hot water heaters and all that.”

“Why don’t they just use matches like the rest of the world?” Brock said skeptically.

“We do in a pinch,” said Kane, “but we don’t import much from the outside world, and people here generally don’t invent ways to make other people’s skills obsolete. It’s considered bad form. Isdemus always says, just because you can do something yourself doesn’t mean you should.”

“So you’re saying more efficient technology is evil because it puts people out of work?” Brock demanded, finally finding something to be mad about.

Kane laughed and held up his hands. “I am not saying it’s good or bad. I’m just telling you how it is here.”

“Ooh!” said Lily, pointing at a neon orange flyer on a wooden post. “It’s a notice for a fencing competition next Wednesday! And they use broadswords, not those dinky little foils they use in the outside world to make sure nobody gets hurt!”

“Do you fence?” Peter asked, surprised.

“I swordfight,” she corrected, and puffed up importantly. Then she amended, “Not that I’m all that experienced. One of my foster dads did pay for lessons, though, and my sensei said I had a natural gift. My foster dad bought me a bokken – that’s a bamboo sword – for my birthday that year. I still practice with it every day.”

“Against whom?” Peter asked.

Lily faltered for a minute and then said defensively, “You can practice by yourself!”

“Pete, look!” Cole interrupted. “‘Precipitation Specialists: Special offer on snow, sleet, and hail from October through March; rain is discounted during the month of September.’”

“Are they water specialists too, like Jim and Brenda?” Peter asked Kane.

“Nope, atmosphere specialists,” he said. “If you can control the atmosphere, the weather follows. But I don’t have to tell you that.” He tried to smile at Peter, but the smile did not reach his eyes.

“Why is there a special on bad weather?” said Cole, frowning.

“It takes lots less energy to make snow when it’s already cold,” said Kane. “A few years back, the magistrates ordered year round sunny weather. You wouldn’t believe the chaos. They had to keep atmosphere specialists on shift round the clock to keep it going, and it always took at least four of them on shift at a time. It was a total nightmare. Now there’s a law that the weather can only be controlled a certain number of days of the year to keep costs down, except in extreme circumstances.”

“What do you mean, it takes less energy?” Cole persisted. “You can’t seriously mean the specialists can make it warm and sunny when it’s cold and rainy?”

“That’s why they’re called specialists,” said Kane, a hint of derision creeping back into his voice. “If everyone could do it, it wouldn’t be very special, now would it?”

“Wait a minute,” said Lily. “What are the magistrates? Are they like the city council?”

“No, they’re more like our version of Parliament,” said Kane.

Peter said in surprise, “I thought Isdemus said we’re still in England!”

“We are,” said Kane.

“So, why isn’t Parliament your version of Parliament?”

Kane’s face twitched. “Well, being as the rest of England doesn’t know we exist, we figured we may as well govern ourselves.”

Lily plastered herself against a wall to make way for an enthusiastic child in a royal blue smock dress, riding in a wooden cart pulled by what looked like an enormous glowing goose. The child laughed gleefully as shoppers dodged out of the way, and Lily couldn’t help grinning too.

“So what are the magistrates’ gifts, then?” she asked Kane.

“What do you mean?”

“If everybody can control one of the elements with the Ancient Tongue, and his gift determines his occupation, which one do they control?”

“Oh,” Kane’s upper lip curled. “Most of them only have the gift of ideas.” It was clear from his tone what he thought of that.

Cole looked confused. “Ideas? That’s not an element.”

“Well spotted,” said Kane dryly. “The gift of ideas is a politically correct way of saying that there’s no difference between them and people in the outside world. So rather than admit their own inferiority, which would be the honest and ethical thing to do, they set themselves above all the rest of us and make up the rules for their betters to abide by. And for some reason I’ve never been able to figure out, we let them.”

“Look who’s talking about ethics,” Lily muttered to Peter.

“So what exactly is the gift of ideas?” Peter cut in.

Kane said, “The magistrates claim that ideas are the most powerful gift of all, because everything that exists began as an idea. They call ideas the ‘seeds of all things’. I say it’s a load of propaganda. Most people just let them rule over us because they’re too stupid to think for themselves.”

“To think of their own ideas, you mean?” Lily smirked.

Kane glared at her and turned away.

Lily leaned over to Peter and whispered, “I was hoping he offered to be our guide to make up for last night. But I think you’re right.”

“About what?”

She narrowed her eyes at Kane’s back. “He’s trying too hard to be friendly. He is up to something.”

Cole slipped in between them. “How come you guys are whispering all the time? Do you fancy each other or something?”

Peter’s mouth fell open, horrified, and even Lily blushed and sped up, leaving Cole and Peter alone.

“What is your problem?” Peter hissed at his friend.

Cole’s eyes widened. “Nothing! It just looks like you get on really well –”

Peter covered his face with his hands.

“Does that mean you don’t fancy her, then?” said Cole, confused.

“No, I don’t fancy her, but now she thinks I do, thanks to you!” Peter retorted.

Presently the crowd thinned out and the shops gave way to a bottleneck at the entrance and exit to the city. Finally, they got a good look at the wall. Its defensible walkways fortified it behind the battlements, stretching out between the watchtowers that punctuated the perimeter like a catwalk.

“We’re going out?” said Brock.

“Of course,” Kane replied. “I told you I was going to show you the real Carlion, didn’t I?”

“Isdemus told us not to go into the Enchanted Forest without one of the nimbi as a guide,” said Lily nervously.

“You have me. I’m a guide,” said Kane.

By now, the tumult of the crowds had fallen to a dull roar in the distance. Nobody seemed to be leaving the city except for them.

On the other side of the fortified wall was another wall, through which they could see the lowered drawbridge, and another portcullis above it gaped open like the mouth of a dragon. The drawbridge appeared to traverse a ravine.

Lily caught up to Peter again, Cole’s comment apparently forgotten. “Peter,” Lily whispered. “I don’t like this.”

“What can he do?” Peter shrugged. “He can’t kill us.”

“And you know that because?”

“Because a), if he’d wanted us dead, he could have killed us last night, or better yet, he could have just let the penumbra kill us. And b), Isdemus said he didn’t mean to kill us.”

“And you said you weren’t sure if you believed that or not,” Lily pointed out. “He couldn’t have let the penumbra kill us, anyway, because he still had to fight them in order to save himself. Plus, the nimbi were there. They would have told Isdemus if he hadn’t at least tried to protect us. Out here in the Enchanted Forest, though… you said yourself that people get lost here and never find their way back out again! He could make it look like a total accident!”

“What are you guys whispering about now?” Cole fell back beside them.

Before they had a chance to answer, they were outside the city walls. Peter turned around, instinctively sensing eyes on his back, and saw two unnaturally tall men, impossibly thin and glowing from within, standing as sentinels on either side of the gate. One of the men wore armor that gleamed copper, with a panache of feathers that looked as if they had been plucked from a cardinal. The other wore silver, with a panache like the feathers of a peacock. They both sat astride beasts that looked almost like horses, but their snouts were too long, their nostrils too large, and their eyes too bright. The beasts glowed too, and each one had a golden horn in the middle of its forehead.

In front of them, Kane bowed to the two sentries, saying, “Dílis. Bellator,” The sentries bowed in return. Peter thought he saw them glance in his direction curiously, but he couldn’t be sure. They maintained their stoic expressions.

When they were halfway across the bridge, suddenly Cole gasped, “Look!” He was peering over the edge of the ravine, and his expression was so compelling that even Brock obeyed. Below, clear spring water glistened in the streaming sunlight, and even so far below, they could see that it was teeming with tropical life.

“It’s the moat,” Peter murmured in disbelief.

“What moat?” said Cole.

“My dad told me that Merlyn turned Arthur into a fish in the moat that surrounded Camelot, to teach him about the hierarchies of the animal kingdom,” Peter whispered back, “when Arthur was still just a servant.”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Brock muttered.

Cole ignored his brother and turned to Peter, hardly daring to breathe. “You mean people can turn into fish here?”

“Not literally,” Kane called behind him. “It’s the gift of one of the science teachers at Paladin High: the gift of the mind. He can merge one mind with another and induce experiences so real that they literally become memories.”

“Like virtual reality?” Peter asked.

“Better,” said Kane, “because he’s not making it up. Two minds become one. All of the creature’s senses actually become yours.”

Cole and Peter exchanged a look, and Cole said in awe to the group in general, “Can we please go to school tomorrow?”

“We don’t even know if we’re still gonna be here tomorrow, tosspot,” Brock snapped. “When Mum and Dad get here I’m sure they’re not going to believe any of this rubbish. Dad’ll take us straight home.”

Cole arched an eyebrow at Brock and then turned to Kane. “Is he in Stage Three yet?”

Kane smiled sardonically. “Stage Three is acceptance. So I’d say no.”

Peter leaned toward Lily and whispered, “Is it me, or is the idea of a guy who can merge minds seriously creepy?”

“Depends on how he uses it,” said Lily, but she didn’t look too excited about the idea either. “Does that mean he can also read minds, I wonder?”

They were past the bridge now, and Cole turned around first. His jaw fell open, and the others followed his gaze.

“What happened?” he managed.

It wasn’t hard to see what he meant. Suddenly the sturdy drawbridge they had just crossed was made of rotted slats leading precariously up to the gatehouse entrance, which was in a state of equal disrepair. The place looked completely deserted, and entire sections of the previously imposing gatehouse had eroded away from the weather, giving it a forlorn and blunted look, a shell of its former glory.

“Did we just miss the passage of about ten centuries?” said Brock. Even he couldn’t hide his surprise.

“It’s another means of protection,” said Kane. “Not that anybody ever makes it through the forest if they don’t know Carlion is here anyway. Even if they did, though, they’d think it was just a ruin on the other side of a ravine too precarious to cross.”

“Trick of the light or something?” said Peter doubtfully.

“Some trick,” Brock murmured. He looked sick to his stomach again.

As they headed towards the tree line, Peter noticed that the cheerful sunshine had also faded into dreary cloud cover that threatened to rain. “I think we’re leaving the safe zone,” he whispered to Lily.

“What have I been telling you?” she hissed back. Then with one more anxious glance at Peter, her expression changed to determination.

“Don’t do it!” Peter whispered immediately. He didn’t know what she was planning, but he was pretty sure he should talk her out of it.

Lily ignored him and set her jaw. “Kane?”

Kane turned around expectantly.

“How come today you’re acting normal, when yesterday you were completely horrid?”

Peter closed his eyes, wishing she could take it back.

Kane barely missed a beat. “I like that about you, Lily. You say exactly what you think.”

“And you say only what you think is most likely to benefit you.”

He raised his eyebrows but went on pleasantly, “Sometimes when people first meet me, they tend to think I’m…”

“A dodgy little toerag?” Lily cut in.

Kane actually grinned back. “Something like that,” he said, and shrugged good-naturedly. “But I’m not really. We just got off to a bad start is all.”

“Bad start?” Lily demanded. “Is that what you call nearly killing us?”

“Lily, come on, it wasn’t his fault. It was an accident,” Cole protested uncomfortably. “Let’s just go explore, all right?”

Kane continued to stare at her, the smile never leaving his face. Lily broke eye contact first.

“I wish I had a sword right now. I would so love to fight him,” Lily muttered, loudly enough that Peter overheard.

“Are you kidding?” he balked. “Did you see him last night against the penumbra?”

She shrugged dismissively. “Yeah. I could take him, though.”

Instead of a thicket full of ordinary trees, those of the Enchanted Forest had impossibly skinny trunks that were green and supple like leaves. They looked as though they could not possibly support their own weight, and a good strong breeze would finish them off if not for the intricate web of connections they had with one another at their canopy. Once they entered the forest and looked up, the canopy appeared delicate, like ferns, and the light that trickled through them seemed to dapple the forest floor like a flashlight through a fabric of lace.

“So this is the Enchanted Forest!” Cole said in wonder. Then he murmured to the group in general, “Have you ever seen trees like these before?”

“Of course you haven’t, because they aren’t trees,” said Kane.

“Oh!” cried Lily. “Look down!”

At their feet, there were different varieties of what looked like moss and fungus. Instead of green and brown, it was brilliantly colored, in fuchsia and orange and even a strange shimmer that turned from green to blue to an iridescent red as they moved past it, like the wings of a beetle.

She crouched down very low to the ground and whispered, “Hello?”

Kane saw her and started laughing. “They’re on duty. They won’t talk to you.”

Cole ran up ahead as best he could on the steep incline and called back, “Look up here! They get bigger!”

The others hurried to catch up with him. Iridescent shoots that looked like a cross between bamboo and banana leaves rose from the thicket. When they looked beyond, they could see that the entire forest seemed to be alive with an internal vibrancy the further in and the higher up they went.

“Shouldn’t we turn around soon?” Lily called.

“Yes,” said Brock vehemently.

Kane called back, “Nah, the forest goes on for miles.”

“But,” Lily shot a worried glance at Peter, “surely we’ve seen what there is to see. And we’ve been gone most of the day.”

Peter leaned over to Lily and whispered, “What can Kane do to us with all these witnesses around?” indicating the trees.

“Nothing here,” Lily said, “but if we get to the other side, remember what Isdemus said? We’re completely unprotected. If we hadn’t been right next to the Grandfather Tree, we probably wouldn’t have made it out alive.” She glanced instinctively to the left and she saw Kane’s eyes fixed right on her face as she said it, and she turned magenta. He pursed his lips and pretended not to have heard.

In the distance, suddenly Peter heard the sound of popping, like firecrackers.

“What’s that noise?” said Brock, frowning.

“Sounds like a sonic boom,” said Peter.

“A sonic…” said Cole.

“…Boom. It means something moved fast enough to break the sound barrier, like cracking a whip,” Peter explained.

“Who would be cracking a whip in here?” Cole wondered aloud.

“He didn’t say someone was cracking a whip, he said it’s like cracking a whip,” said Brock irritably.

“Somebody’s looking for us, I think,” said Kane, craning his neck behind him. Sure enough, with a crack loud enough that they all jumped, an elf nimbus appeared before them, smoothing back his white-blond hair.

“Finally! I’ve been looking all over for you. Your father,” the nimbus pointed at Brock and Cole, “demands that you both return at once.”

“Dad is here!” said Brock, and then said fretfully, “Is he mad? What did he say, did he say anything?”

“What about Mum, is she here too?” Cole asked the nimbus.

“I presume you mean the blond woman who arrived with him and prattles endlessly,” returned the nimbus with a raised eyebrow. “Yes, she’s here too.”

“What about my dad?” said Peter anxiously. “Is he here?”

The nimbus shrugged. “Isdemus sent me as soon as he spoke with Henry Jefferson. That’s all I know.”

“Well, that’s that, then,” said Kane. “Let’s go back.”

“Finally,” Brock murmured, just as Cole whined, “Aww, really?” and skipped back to where Peter and Lily stood. “Can’t we sleep out here? I bet this place looks amazing at night…”

“Dad says we have to go back, so we’re going back,” Brock snapped.

“Oh, all right… Mum’s probably worried too…”

“I’m kind of anxious to get back myself,” Peter said to Lily under his breath. “I have so much to talk to Dad about.”

Lily pursed her lips and looked away. “I’m sure you do,” she said stiffly, and sped up so that he couldn’t see her expression.