Rook knew he should have gone back to his brothers before this. They’d be impatient at having to wait so long. They’d want to carry out their puck-plan right away. He didn’t know what that plan was, exactly, except that it was supposed to turn everything upside down and had something to do with the shadow-spinner spider. His brothers didn’t know about the stilth, and even if they did, they wouldn’t care about it because they wouldn’t see how it might affect them. Somehow he had to convince them to change their plan—to work with him, and with Fer.
It was like being pulled into pieces, this trying to stay true to Fer and to his brothers at the same time. Pretty soon there wouldn’t be anything of himself left at all.
He led Fer and Phouka and the bees through the Way and into the land of the tree-giants. As before, the ground was covered with soft pine needles. The trees towered all around, blocking the sunlight. Rook walked past a root as tall as he was. It made him feel tiny.
As they walked, pine needles from the trees drifted down around them. One landed on Rook’s shirtsleeve. It was green on one side, silver on the other, and surprisingly delicate coming from such a huge tree. The needles fell, gleaming as they tumbled through the faint light. They made a sound as they landed, like tick-tick-tick.
He stopped. The pine needles were falling as hard as rain.
Fer stepped up next to him. “What?” she asked, her voice quiet in the stuffy air.
This wasn’t right. He held up his hand, and a few needles dropped onto it. “The stilth has come here, too,” he told her.
A sudden, unexpected, unpucklike knot of worry clenched inside him. The stilth really was spreading, and it was spreading fast—way faster than he’d thought it would. He and Fer might not have much time before all the lands started falling into stillness and death.
He led Fer and the bees and Phouka through the huge trees to the biggest tree of all of them, with the cave dug out of it. His brothers were there, some of them sitting around the campfire, others curled asleep in their dog shapes. He frowned. They were too quiet for pucks.
As they got closer, Asher, Tatter, and Rip came to meet them. They didn’t bound this time, or shout out his name as they usually did.
Rook stopped and studied them. Asher’s braided hair looked dull; Tatter didn’t smile; Rip didn’t growl at seeing Fer, and the flame in his eyes looked dim.
The stilth was affecting them, clear enough. “Brothers,” he said.
“Rook,” Asher replied; then he nodded at Phouka. “Brother,” he said to the horse. He looked at Fer, and his eyes narrowed.
Rip grabbed Rook’s shoulders with two black-painted hands. “Pup,” Rip growled down at him. “We’ve been waiting for you.” He lowered his voice. “Why’d you bring that Lady with you?” He let Rook go and stepped back.
Fer looked fiercely up at the taller pucks. “Hi, Robin,” she said to Ash. “Hi, other Robin,” she said to Rip, who bared his teeth at her. Then she smiled at Tatter, who nodded back. She rested the end of her bow on the ground and gripped its top. She looked strong and determined. “I assume you know about the stilth,” she said to them.
“We do, yes,” Ash said warily. “We don’t see what it has to do with us.”
“Then you’re being stupid,” Fer said sharply. The bees hovered over her head, grumbling. “When the stilth invades the lands, everyone will die.”
“Then go and deal with the stilth, Lady, and leave us out of it,” Rip said, putting a bitter accent on the word Lady.
Fer glanced aside at Rook. “I thought you said they would help.”
He shrugged. “They will.” He hoped they would, anyway.
She rolled her eyes. “They don’t seem very helpful.”
“That’s because we’re not helpful,” Ash growled.
Right, time for him to step in. “Fer, this is my brother Asher.” Then he pointed at Rip. “And this is Rip. You already know Tatter.”
“Brother,” Ash growled. He didn’t like Rook telling Fer their real names.
Rook ignored him. “They’d be thinking more clearly, Fer, but the stilth has come here.” He gave Asher a long look. “You can feel it, can’t you?”
After a slow moment, Asher nodded. “We can, yes.” Then he shrugged. “We’re pucks. We don’t have to stay in one land. We’ll go somewhere the stilth hasn’t come to.”
“There’s no such place,” Rook said. “I’ve been traveling to as many of the lands that I could get to. The stilth is in the Ways and it’s spreading everywhere, even the human world.”
“We have to stop it,” Fer said. “Rook said you have a plan.”
“It’s a puck-plan,” Rip said, with an edge of his old surliness. “It’s for making trouble. It’s nothing to do with this stilth of yours.”
“He said,” Fer said firmly, “that you would help.”
“They will, Fer,” Rook put in. “I just have to talk to them.”
“You’ll have to talk fast, Pup,” Rip growled.
Fer blew out an impatient-sounding breath. “Okay. Sure. Talk to your brothers, Rook.” She pointed at the biggest tree. “I’ll just go look at that cave over there.” Giving all four of them a glare, she stalked off.
Ash, Tatter, and Rip closed in around him.
“We don’t like that girl,” Rip said grimly.
“You broke the thread,” Ash added, “but it’s clear, Pup, that she’s still got some kind of hold on you.”
“A binding spell,” Rip put in.
“No, I told you before,” Rook said. “That’s not it. I—” Curse it. This was where everything could go wrong. “I didn’t break the thread. She did. I wanted to be friends with her.” He took a deep breath. “Now I want to stay true to her.”
“Stay true?” Asher asked, his eyes wide.
“She’s not a puck,” Rip said flatly. “You can’t.”
Rook’s fierceness flared. “I can,” he shot back.
Ash shook his head. “You know what that would mean.”
“I know, yes,” Rook said.
All three of his brothers stared at him for a long, tense moment. The pine needles floated down around them.
“You’d ask that of us?” Ash said softly.
“I do ask it,” Rook answered.
His brothers were silent. He knew how hard this was for them to understand, him staying true to Fer. The pucks were separate, alone. A puck never helped anyone but another puck. A puck never stayed true to anyone but another puck.
He’d been like that, once. He was still a puck, but because of Fer—because of strange, stubborn, loyal, part-human Fer—he’d been changed. He’d learned how to care about other people. He’d found he could have friends who weren’t pucks, who knew his real name and called him by it. He’d realized that when there was something wrong, like the stilth, he could help to set it right.
His brothers couldn’t understand any of that. They had their plan, and they couldn’t see beyond it.
Ash glanced aside at Tatter and shrugged. “He’s always been a strange one, hasn’t he?”
Tatter nodded. “He has, yes.”
“Always out and about,” Ash said.
“A wanderer,” Rip confirmed.
The three of them stood looking at him; he waited warily to see what they would decide.
Then Asher stepped closer and slung an arm over Rook’s shoulders. “Brother,” he said.
Rip gripped Rook’s arm. “Brother,” he added, with a sharp grin.
Tatter leaned in and kissed the side of Rook’s head, then ruffled his hair. “Brother.”
Rook let out a shaky, relieved breath. No matter what strange thing they thought he was up to, they would always stay true to him, and he would stay true to them.
That’s what it meant to be a puck.